A Kiss for the Netherfairies
by zaubernuss
Summary: Post-war Hogwarts. One evening, 7th year student Hermione Granger seeks out her Potions Professor in the dungeons. She has an important question to ask. Before, explanations are given, confessions are made, secrets are revealed, forgiveness is asked, memories are shared, truths are being told. In the end, Snape has a decision to make. Could this be a beginning? SS/HG, mostly canon
1. A Matter of Delicacy

_For all readers who are following my other story 'What Lies Beneath' and are waiting for the promised sequel... I've not given up on it. I just got distracted and lost in the Potter Universe, and I admit, I like it here, so I might stay for a while!_

 _After all, Severus Snape is another dark but irresistible hero, and I think his character has depths that weren't fully allowed to surface in Mrs. Rowlings books. Anyway, this little story, which is more a chamber-play, is my analysis of Snape's and Hermione's character and relationship, and some of the things that happened in the the last book of the series. It's mostly canon, execpt for the rather significant fact that Snape survived, obviously. ;)_

 _Huge THANKS to Dreamthrower, who once again volunteered to be my beta, and made this story so much better!_

Update October 2018: I'm very pleased to announce that a Russion translation of this story, done by Alex Che (Thank you so much, Alex!), is now available on ficbook. net. Please contact either him or me for a link, if you're interested!

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 _\- How in the light of one night did we come so far? -_  
 _'Sun and Moon' lyrics, Miss Saigon_

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Severus Snape, Hogwarts' old and new Potions Professor, sat at his desk, scowling. His red quill scratched across seemingly endless sheets of parchment, mercilessly dissecting the astonishingly mindless drivel that the dunderheads he still had the misfortune of teaching had produced as a poor excuse for an essay on the twelve uses of dragon blood. At least now that the Dark Lord was over and done with, finding and nursing any grain of wit in the minds of his students was the only search for intelligence he still had to torment himself with.

After his name had been cleared – thanks to the Boy-Who-Still-Lived-To-Be-A-Thorn-In-His-Side – Minerva, newly installed headmistress, had offered him his old job back. For lack of options, and, to be honest, because Hogwarts was the only home he ever knew, he had taken her up on it. Just until he had gotten his act back together and found some perspective, he had firmly told himself – and anyone else who dared to enquire. It was a little pathetic, really, but for the time being, he preferred not to dwell on it.

With an angry frown, he scratched out an entire paragraph on the parchment before him, dissecting it with scalding remarks until it was lost beneath a sea of red ink. He was just about to formulate another sarcastic comment on the idiocy of the written word before him, when a knock on his door rudely interrupted his cursive rant.

Surprised, he looked up. He didn't have a detention to oversee – he never gave them on a Friday evening. Any miscreants were sent to work with Filch on these evenings, if punishments had to be dished out. He was looking forward to a glass of Scotch and a new book on potion theory as soon as he was finished with his grading.

"Enter!" he bellowed, prepared to give whoever dared intrude on him for most likely no valid reason a piece of his mind.

His office door swung open to reveal a rather flustered looking Gryffindor, and not just any Gryffindor. The-Boy-Who-Still-Annoyed-Him's best friend. Who more often than not annoyed him as well. But she was a more complex case altogether.

"Miss Granger?" He barely managed to mask his irritation.

She stepped inside and closed the door behind her, nervously pushing that insane hair of hers behind her ear in a wasted effort to give it some kind of order.

"Good evening, Professor Snape," she greeted him politely.

He didn't reply in kind. "Unless you have taken a couple of wrong turns and staircases to end up in the dungeons, I can't imagine an explanation for your being here on a Friday evening," he snarled. He had the vague hope that if he didn't invite her in and offer a chair, she might leave right away – or at least cut her visit short.

"You do have office hours right now, don't you?" she enquired, as if wondering if she had mistaken time and place.

He sighed. Yes, he did officially have office hours on Friday evenings – which was the reason why he got away with leaving detentions with Filch in the first place. All teachers were required to offer counselling once a week. But, usually, no one sought him out in this role and imposed on him. Not even his Slytherins. He simply wasn't the kind of person a sane minded student turned to when in need of advice. And never ever in all this time at Hogwarts had a Gryffindor shown up in his office voluntarily. They were daring and foolish, but not this foolish.

"Yes, Miss Granger, I actually do," he snapped. "But I'm reasonably sure that your own head of house is diligently fulfilling his office duty right now, and would be ecstatic to offer any counsel you might need."

She ignored his polite attempt to throw her out and approached his desk. Despite not having been offered a seat, she sat down on the wooden chair in front of him, fidgeting uncomfortably. "Unfortunately Professor Lupin won't be able to assist me with the somewhat delicate and rather private matter I've come to talk to you about," she said, her eyes briefly crossing his gaze. "You're the only one who can help me out, I'm afraid." Her voice sounded a bit subdued, and there was a touch of colour in her face that – unless she had run here – could not be from warmth. Autumn had come early, and it was rather cool in the dungeons. Besides, she had been rather pale when she had entered. Too pale, actually, to look entirely healthy. If he was not mistaken – and he usually wasn't when it came to reading people – her blush was from embarrassment. He eyed her sharply as an alarming explanation came to his mind.

"Miss Granger," he said dangerously, leaning forward and pinning her with his gaze. "Are you telling me that you managed to get yourself into the kind of trouble that requires a difficult to brew, not to mention quite illegal potion that our school nurse neither stocks nor gives out except for justified, medical indications?" Oh Merlin, she couldn't have been so careless and stupid! Not she, who was hailed as the brightest witch of her age by some of his colleagues. Unfortunately, he remembered, she had also been rumoured to have been intimately involved with Arthur Weasley's youngest offspring. Which, as a matter of fact, was quite a contradiction to the first assertion. He felt a twinge of nausea. The idea of her being pregnant with a child of the The-Boy-Who-Always-Caused-Trouble's pathetic sidekick – another red-haired dunderhead, no doubt! – repulsed him more than it probably should.

She gave him a surprised look. "What kind of trouble are you talking... oh – you think..." She broke off when understanding dawned. "Of course not, Sir!" she said, sounding slightly offended now. "If I were to engage in sexual activities, I'd be responsible enough to take precautions beforehand. I came here because I need to ask you something."

He relaxed and leaned back, careful not to let his relief show, nor to dwell on the rather intimate bit of information she had volunteered. If she were to engage...?

"Of course," he replied drily. "A question. Imagine my surprise! Well, ask away so you can let me be, Miss Granger."

Her brief moment of righteous irritation had passed. "Actually, if I may, Sir, I'd have to explain something first..." she said rather timidly. "Otherwise, you will most likely throw me out of your office right away, and what I have to say to you is important for various reasons."

A nervous and obviously troubled Hermione Granger – this was a novelty. Thinking back, he couldn't remember ever seeing her insecure or shy. She was usually bossy, highly irritating, obnoxiously righteous and downright insufferable. For that alone, he should point out to her that his time was valuable and that he'd rather not waste it by listening to a Gryffindor pouring her heart out. Or he should let her know that he wasn't in the least interested in whatever story she had to tell and couldn't care less about her problems. But the truth was that he didn't have anything better to do, that he was interested and that he did care. All of which he found extremely annoying.

"Well, congratulations, Miss Granger," he said, exasperated. "You have successfully secured my undivided attention. What could it possibly be, then, that you need explain before daring to ask me this question of high importance?"

She drew a deep breath. "I took a vow. A sacrificing vow, to be precise."

He stared at her with a perplexed expression, unsure whether he should find it laughable or alarming. Sacrificing vows were a bit of both, in fact.

She sighed. "It was rather a spur of the moment thing. The idea came about last New Year's Eve. As you know, it had been a rather difficult year for us..."

That had do be the understatement of the century. The last year had been hell. While he had been trying – albeit with little success – to prevent the Carrows from turning Hogwarts into a gigantic torture chamber, the Golden Trio had been out in the wilderness chasing Horcruxes and trying – equally unsuccessfully – to escape the Snatchers. He didn't know the extent of the hardship they had endured, but it was apparent that they had suffered. She still was too thin, and the dark circles beneath her eyes hinted at too many nights with too little sleep. But worse than the shadows under her eyes were the shadows within. Eyes that had seen too much. The horrors of the war, the losses and the grief had robbed too many children of their innocence. She was no exception.

With a slight incline of his head, he acknowledged the fact, and she resumed her account more calmly than warranted considering the events she described. "We had been out there for what felt like ages, hungry, cold and pretty miserable most of the time. Harry had just barely escaped with his life after Nagini had attacked us in Godrick's Hollow, and the incident made the abstract idea that we might actually not survive the war suddenly seem very realistic. With the final confrontation with Voldemort on the horizon, we were, in all honesty, scared shitless. Someone – I think it was Harry – asked us if we, should we die in the war, had any regrets... if there were things we were sorry to not have had a chance to do. And I mentioned a magical rite that I had happened to have read about: something wizards would do to increase the chances of a favourable outcome of an intended endeavour in return for a pledge."

"Happened to have read, Miss Granger?" he asked, raising his brow. He wondered if there was a single book in the Hogwarts' library that she had not devoured in the six years she'd been here. Given that sacrificing vows, despite their name, were not considered Dark magic, the book in which she must have found it would not even have been in the Restricted Section. "And you couldn't resist playing around with potentially dangerous magic that you didn't fully comprehend?"

"I think I understood the concept quite well, Sir. Basically, it's a wishing spell that works on the concept of tit-for-tat. Muggles actually have something similar."

"If you mean these rashly spoken promises along the lines of "dear God, if only you let me live through this hangover, I swear I'll never to touch alcohol again", then you're thoroughly mistaken. For Muggles, there is no magic involved binding them to their promise."

"Muggles also use it in much more serious situations and for matters that are really important to them," she objected. "And those who believe in a higher power consider these promises to be quite binding. People have built churches or gone on a pilgrimage to fulfil their vows. You might say it's only superstition, but so are – in my opinion – divination and prophecies. They only derive their power from people's beliefs in them."

"But there's a real power involved when dealing with magic, whether you believe in it or not," he pointed out. "It's not something to be trifled with."

"Well, I was of the impression that the ritual is neither considered serious wizardry nor a reliable means to secure the successful outcome of an endeavour."

"No, it's not, and there is no guarantee that it will work." He sighed again, pinching the bridge of his nose to chase away the headache that threatening to build. He truly had no wish to discuss the theory of sacrificing vows with her right now. "Be that as it may, the ritual involves a wizarding oath, and regardless of how profane the matter, if not carefully phrased, such an oath can have dire consequences, Miss Granger."

"I was aware of that, Sir," she calmly stated. "And I made it plainly clear to everybody involved. I know that for the wish to be granted, one has to be willing to make a sacrifice and promise to do a deed that is of adequate importance." She smiled. "Luna actually explained it quite nicely..."

He raised his eyebrow. "Miss Lovegood? Dare I even ask?" The Lovegood girl didn't have her nickname Loony Luna for no reason. Though an intelligent witch in her own right, she did not seem to walk the same plane as other mortals. Her potions were usually safe and usable, her essays, though, frequently beyond hilarious. He always saved them for nights he could use a good laugh.

"She made it sound very convincing," Hermione said earnestly, trying to keep her face straight. "See, when you make a sacrificing vow, you draw out the Netherfairies. The more interesting the deed is that you promise to do in exchange for being granted your wish, the more fairies are attracted. They'll help you achieve whatever you're asking for, but although they're enthusiastic, they're only so strong. Despite their best efforts, it doesn't always work. Therefore, you really have to make sure that your sacrifice is considered inspiring. The Netherfairies are easily bored and enjoy a fair amount of drama. And they're easily offended if you fail to deliver. Luna said they can make your life really difficult."

He shook his head in amused wonderment. "Well, I suppose that explanation works as well as any other," he commented with a shrug. That went for most of Miss Lovegood's views. According to her, everything that happened in the world could be ascribed to the machination of invisible beings that nobody had ever seen, much less proven to exist. Yet it was equally impossible and an utter waste of time to try and prove her wrong. He knew that from personal experience.

"So, what exciting deed did you promise to do in order to attract the Netherfairies?" he asked, not bothering to hide his sarcasm.

Her expression turned sober again. "We pledged that we would finally find the courage to do what we would most regret not having done if we were to die in the war – a desire we never dared to voice, a guilt that we failed to make amends for, a truth that we never spoke or a deed that we always lacked the courage to pull through with."

"How very Gryffindor," he snorted. "And which of those deeds did you pick?"

"A bit of all of those, I guess," she said, blushing slightly again and shifting on her chair. He couldn't deny his rising curiosity. If it fulfilled all of the mentioned criteria, it sounded like a worthy endeavour, yet what she had pledged clearly made her feel uncomfortable and embarrassed. Which made him wonder what had possessed her to make a sacrificing vow in the first place.

"You might have thought it a harmless game," he admonished. "Something rather ridiculous that only Miss Lovegood believes in. But you do not fool around with wizarding oaths. What on Earth could be important enough to even be worth risking a sacrificing vow? Finding everlasting love? Getting an outstanding in your potion N.E.W.T.S?"

"We asked to survive the war," Hermione said matter-of-factly, and managed to render him speechless for a moment.

"Are you quite insane?" he barked when he had found his voice again. "Didn't you realize that by asking for your life to be spared, your very life became the ransom to be paid in case the demands of the vow were not met? If you fail to uphold your end of the bargain, whatever it may be – you life is forfeit... You will die!"

"Yes, we were aware of that," she said soberly. "In fact, the Standard Book of Wizarding Oaths states clearly that the consequences of failing to keep a promise is determined by whatever it is that you ask for."

That was the little-know-it-all speaking. She had always been good at quoting from books almost verbatim. In this case, however, he wasn't sure if she had fully grasped the meaning of what she had read. How could she have risked it, otherwise?

But once again, she surprised him, as a clearly amused smile flashed across her lips before elaborating: "Or, as Luna explained it: If you fail to live up to your promise, the Netherfairies will take away again whatever you asked for."

"So – need I prepare to explain to the headmistress that you or your friends have been taken by the Netherfaries in the foreseeable future? I surely hope not – the paperwork will be gruesome..."

She grinned. "I suppose that won't be necessary. So far, everybody has upheld his part of the bargain. Harry has had his coming-out..."

"... and don't we all remember!" He rolled his eyes, remembering the scene Potter had caused when, at the end of the last welcome feast, he had jumped onto the bench and announced to the entirety of students and staff that he was gay, thank you very much for the attention, and kindly carry on with your meal.

Hermione grimaced. "Well, Harry had pledged that he would openly reveal his most guarded secret, but when it came to it, he was unsure about what exactly 'openly' implied. He wanted to be on the safe side."

"I see. Well, we can safely assume that the requirements of 'openly' were met when the Prophet reported it to the rest of Britain's wizarding population right the next day," he commented drily. "Am I also correct to assume that Mr. Weasley took part in messing with the Netherfairies as well?"

"Of course." Hermione sighed. "But he wasn't careful enough with his phrasing."

"Imagine my surprise..." The youngest Weasley boy, in his opinion, was worst of the lot. While his siblings showed at least traces of intelligence, Severus held nothing but disdain for Potter's sidekick. All he ever did was plunge headfirst into danger without even pausing a minute to think first. Frankly, it was a miracle that he had survived this long. He must have attracted a whole bunch of Netherfairies to make it through the last year.

"Ron promised that he would do everything in his power to prove to his girlfriend that he was serious and would never abandon her again."

He immediately picked up on the subtle resentment in her voice. "Abandon again?" he asked suspiciously, well aware of who the girlfriend in question was. What had the dunderhead done this time?

"Ron left us while we were hunting for Horcruxes," the girl explained, averting her gaze. "It was – a difficult time." She didn't elaborate, but he didn't need Legilimency to hear what she didn't voice. It was plain in her face and in her body language. She had been hurt by his actions. Badly. So the boy had taken a pledge to make it up to her... and he was still around. That either proved that the whole spell was a lot of rubbish, or Mr. Weasley had somehow successfully proven that he was very serious about the relationship and willing to commit to her.

He couldn't quite identify the queasy feeling in his stomach when a mental image of Hermione, looking suspiciously like Molly Weasley, popped into his mind – standing in the kitchen with at least three snotnosed redheads clinging to her apron. It probably was revulsion.

"So am I correct to assume that you will be the next Mrs. Weasley and congratulations are in order?" he asked darkly, trying to keep his voice even, when all he wanted to do was to shout at her.

"Hell, no!" Hermione exclaimed, and for the second time this evening, he let out a relieved breath that surprised even himself. Obviously, the idea of Miss Granger and Mr. Weasley as a couple bothered him. He pondered this a moment, trying to analyse the feeling. Well, it would have been a marriage bound for disaster. The boy was no match for her intellectually, and she would doubtlessly wither like a plant without water if she had to endure mindless talk about Quidditch and other profanities for the rest of her life.

"That's where Ron made his mistake. He still considered me his girlfriend at the time he made the pledge, but..."

"But you didn't reciprocate his feelings?"

Hermione shook her head. She couldn't believe she was discussing her love life with Snape, of all people.

"I had a thing for him for a while in our sixth year – before everything fell apart – but he never noticed me. And last year, just when he started showing interest and I thought that things had a chance of going somewhere, he just left us. I understand that he was scared and felt over his head – but so did we. It felt like betrayal at the time. I realized then that we weren't compatible. Unfortunately, we hadn't discussed things between us – I was too much of a coward and afraid of another confrontation, and Ron... well, I hadn't known that he was still hoping we could pick up where we left off. Until New Year's Eve that is..." She cleared her throat. "Anyway, after the war, Lavender Brown approached Ron with renewed interest. By the end of summer, she was officially his girlfriend. It was then that he started to get very nervous for not having done anything spectacular to fulfil his oath."

"Why did he think he needed to do something spectacular? Because of Mr. Potter's rather unfortunate performance? Or did he believe the Netherfairies demanded more drama?"

"I guess he just didn't know how to prove to Lavender that he was serious about her other than proposing to her."

"Oh dear!" he said sarcastically. "Doesn't he realise that because of his vow, he will not get out of this marriage promise alive – unless it's Miss Brown who chooses to end the relationship?"

"I don't think he does. And we haven't had the heart to tell him yet. Hopefully, it won't be necessary. They seem very happy together."

"Which leaves us with you, Miss Granger. Have you fulfilled your pledge yet?"

"No. It was impossible up to now... See, I needed to speak to you in order to do it and – well, given that you were still recuperating and no one could tell where you were..."

After Nagini's attack, everybody had believed him dead. After all, they had seen him die. It was the moment she still relived in her nightmares every night. Nobody knew what had happened to his body. When they had returned to the Shrieking Shack, it had miraculously vanished. She had clung to that little shred of hope then that he had been able to save himself somehow. He had been on her mind ever since, and she had been filled with relief and gratefulness beyond measure when she learned that he had been Apparated to safety by Draco Malfoy. He had been in St. Mungo's for a while, but had vanished from the wizarding world after his name had been cleared. It had been a big surprise when Headmistress McGonagall had announced that Severus Snape would return to Hogwarts as Potions Professor.

All in all, the news had been received with little enthusiasm. War hero or not, the last year had been traumatising for many students, and learning that his part in it had been largely a charade to fool Voldemort hadn't made it easy to forgive and forget. Apart from the Slytherins, Hermione had been the only student who was happy to see him return. She hoped that fulfilling her vow would finally bring closure and at least give her a little peace.

"I suppose we're now getting to the part where you explain what I have to do with your vow..." Professor Snape said, his face blank as usual and not giving away any feeling except for the slight undertone of annoyance that was always present with him. If he was curious or suspicious, he hid it well behind his sarcasm and cold detachment. "Let me guess..." he ventured, raising his brow. "You pledged the life of your firstborn child, and now you're looking to me to find a way out of the deal with Dark magic?"

"No, nothing as bad as that." She took a deep breath and braced herself for the storm. There was no way around this. She had to say it at some point, although right now, she wasn't sure if maybe falling dead on the spot wasn't the better option.

"I vowed that, if I survived the war, I would ask you to kiss me."


	2. A Matter of Trust

_Thank you very much for all your amazing reviews! Please keep posting them, seeing that somebody has left a comment always makes my day!_

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" _I vowed that, if I survived the war, I would ask you to kiss me."_

Her professor's expression turned thunderous. Dark clouds were gathering on his face and his eyebrows narrowed menacingly. He jumped up from his chair, his fingers instinctively reaching for his wand. He looked ready to hex her.

"How dare you, Miss Granger," he hissed, his eyes blazing as his fury unleashed. He leaned over his desk until he was looming over her, using his intimidating height to its full advantage. He really knew how to make his students cower. "I don't know what kind of amusement you find in coming down here insulting my intelligence by telling me this absurd, elaborate story, and I fail to understand what made you think that this is even remotely funny! But know that I don't share your and your friends inimical sense of humour! If you have now sufficiently fed your twisted need for entertainment at my expense, I advise you to leave post-haste – before I lose hold of my temper and do something I might or might not regret later!"

"No, Sir, please!" Hermione exclaimed, horror-stricken. "It's not a joke, I swear! You can use Legilimency on me if you wish. I'm not lying to you... I wouldn't – certainly not about this. Please, you must believe me..."

He glowered at her, and his voice was deceptively and dangerously smooth when he asked: "Believe that when you thought of a deed you wished to see done before dying, kissing your evil Potions professor was what came to your mind? And furthermore believe that kissing said Potions professor was considered an adequate sacrifice in the eyes of the supposedly drama-loving Netherfairies to grant you your wish to live? Do you have any idea how insulting that is? Or am I supposed to feel flattered, being the 'greasy git of the dungeons'?"

"You never were that to me!" Hermione exclaimed vehemently, realising that she had jumped out of her chair as well and stood facing him and his wrath. This was worse than she had feared, especially after the almost amiable talk they had shared before things had gone down the drain with her revelation. "I never meant to insult you with anything I said or did," she repeated imploringly. "You didn't listen: Kissing was not the sacrifice. Facing and acting on one's regrets or desires was!"

"And kissing _me_ was your deepest desire? Not having kissed me would have been your deepest regret if you had died in the war? Do you think me stupid, Miss Granger?

"No! I think you're brilliant! Except in moments like this, right now, when you are not – when you're too upset and angry to even listen! The oath I made was not for _me_ to kiss _you_. I pledged that I would approach you and _ask_ for _you_ to kiss _me_."

He failed to see the difference, and his anger was undiminished by her attempted hair-splitting explanation. "Didn't find enough of that legendary Gryffindor courage to take action yourself and be done with it?" he sneered.

"On the contrary," she shot back. "That would have been much easier. Kiss and run and deal with the detentions later. It seemed like the coward's way out to me."

"You would have needed all your courage to face the repercussions for such a blatant display of disrespect towards a teacher later!" he replied, still shouting. "In fact, you will find yourself in dire need of it, because there will be serious repercussions for this totally inappropriate behaviour, rest assured of that! Right now, I'm thinking of multiple, lengthy and most disagreeable chores for detention, or better yet, detentions with Filch, who will be pleased to keep you busy every evening until the end of term; not to mention the loss of all of Gryffindor's house points! I will also inform the headmistress, and..."

She had the nerve to laugh at him. "You think that after all we've been through, I'd give a damn about those stupid house points?" she asked, incredulous and still very visibly agitated. "You think that de-gutting Flobberworms or squeezing out Bubotuber pus would disgust me, after having stepped through gore and blood and torn limbs during the final battle, after having seen classmates being ripped apart by Acromantulas right in front of my eyes? Do you seriously believe you can scare me by assigning months of detention with Filch after I lay writhing and screaming on the floor for what felt like an eternity at Bellatrix's mercy? Take the damn points, for all I care, and give me detentions! There's nothing you can do to me that could possibly be worse than what I've been through already!"

This sobered him instantly. He knew that she and her friends had been taken prisoner and held at Malfoy Manor a few weeks before the final battle. They had all made a very narrow escape, though clearly not unscathed. No one came out unscathed after being interrogated by Bellatrix Lestrange. Imagining what she might have done to the girl had sickened him. Bellatrix herself hadn't been too forthcoming with information – he had learned most of it from Draco much later, who had confirmed that the girl had been tortured brutally and most likely still bore the scars.

For a brief moment, he felt the urge to apologize... though for what exactly, he didn't know. It wasn't his fault that she had experienced hardship and torture, pain and mortal fear, nor was it his fault that she had faced death and destruction. They all had, including himself.

But he also knew that didn't make it right. He was an adult; he had made his choices. All she had experienced had been forced upon her – things no child should ever have to go through. Her age and her status as his student demanded that he regarded and treated her as a child, but a look into her haunted eyes made clear that she was a child no longer. He shouldn't belittle her sacrifices by treating her as such.

He didn't apologize. He never did. It was pointless – he was never forgiven. But the feeling of guilt and regret calmed his anger and softened his features. He leaned back again and stepped out of her personal space, giving her room to compose herself. The memories clearly had shaken her badly.

Hermione briefly closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "Do you really think..." she continued, a lot calmer herself, "that after all the sacrifices you made, after all you've done to help us and protect us and ensure Voldemort's downfall – that I would insult you by playing a stupid and childish prank on you?"

Did he? It wouldn't be the first time that he had been singled out for a prank, laughed at and insulted. Yet to think that she would participate or even initiate such a thing or that any of her friends would find it funny after everything that had happened seemed pretty absurd, even to him. It _was_ petty and childish, and she was neither.

"I concede your point, Miss Granger," he finally managed to reply. "You are not a child anymore. However, you are still my student, and whatever your reason was for involving me in the pledge you made, it was entirely inappropriate, and I will have to deal with it accordingly."

She fell back on her chair, but her eyes remained on him. "How ironic," she said, and he saw an emotion flitter across her face that, for once, he couldn't identify. "Here we are back at Hogwarts again, no longer fellow order members, allies or companions fighting on the same side. After all we've been through together, we're back to being students and teachers, subject to house rules, curfews and disciplinary measures if we break them – as if nothing has changed. Yet things are not the same anymore."

He nodded, and sat down again as well, albeit a bit stiffly. "I agree. But it doesn't change the facts. We are all back in our familiar roles and have to act accordingly. You might try to find comfort in consistency, Miss Granger."

He was right. She had discovered it herself, already. Being back at Hogwarts, picking up where they had left off before things had escalated out of control, gave her a sense of normalcy. It was grounding, in a way, and it offered a chance to forget the past for a while. Until she found herself in a situation like this, where playing their old roles seemed utterly ridiculous. In pre-war Hogwarts, they would never have talked to each other like this. She would never have felt on equal footing with him, as she did now. Whatever the roles required, she didn't regard him primarily as her professor anymore. She saw in him a companion, a confidant, someone she could trust. Someone who had been to hell and back, just like she had.

"I guess I'll just need some time re-adapting," she sighed woefully. She then raised her gaze and looked at him with a pleading expression. "I will accept whatever punishment you feel my behaviour deserves, but please, Sir, let me first tell you my reasons for involving you in my pledge. You will see that I never meant any disrespect. Though I can understand why you might suspect something like that."

"Can you, Miss Granger?" Depending on how much The-Boy-Who'd-Seen-His-Memories had spilled, she probably could. She would know that, in his experience, it was exactly the sort of game Potter and his friends would play, preferably with him as a target. He hadn't forgotten. But Harry wasn't James, Granger and Weasley weren't the Marauders, and he himself was no longer the awkward, insecure boy he used to be. There were worse memories that haunted his nights, now.

"Yes, Professor Snape, I believe I can," she said softly. "But it was a magical ritual meant to be taken seriously, not a foolish game or a wizard version of "Truth and Dare" aiming to cause the utmost humiliation to all involved. I would never have involved you, otherwise."

"Well, then, Miss Granger," he conceded, relaxing his rigid stance a bit. "You have five minutes to explain how I, of all people, happened to become the object of your greatest regret – or that of your unfulfilled desire, which I find even harder to believe."

"Thank you, Sir," she said, and he saw her relax somewhat, too. "Firstly, I want you to know that you misunderstood me earlier – kissing you wouldn't have been a sacrifice on my part at all. It would have been a thorough test of Gryffindor courage, for sure, but... I wouldn't have minded. It would have been most disrespectful, though, given that you wouldn't have had any say in it. And although I'm an advocate of women's equality and self-confident to some degree – I'm not in this. Surprising as it might be, the heart of a romantic can be found beating even in a bookworm. I would want you to kiss me of your own volition."

Her explanation only added to his confusion. A small, deeply distrustful part of his brain still insisted that it had to be a prank and demanded that he throw her out as long as he still had a shred of his dignity intact. Another part acted instinctively and took the usual pre-emptive measures: Strike before it hits you.

"Still looking for my approval, Miss Granger?" he taunted. After all, that's what she had always been after in all those years he'd been teaching her. She needed constant praise to feel secure of her place in the world, and all other teachers had been more than willing to accommodate her. He had always thought that she needed a healthy dose of self-confidence more than flattery or a constant stroking of her ego. Her accomplishments spoke for themselves. Yet, that never seemed enough for her. The fact that he had always denied her his recognition had irked her – and driven her to work even harder for it.

"Yes," she admitted frankly, recognising his spite for what it was – a poor and cruel means of defence that she rendered useless by her acceptance of it. "I guess I am."

"Why?" he asked mystified, not understanding this confusing and irritating Gryffindor at all. "Why does it mean so much to you?" He had always thought that just having one teacher not singing her praise had been unacceptable for her – like a name missing on a list, a piece of a puzzle not fitting into the picture, her view of herself and the rest of the world not making sense without it. Could it be that it had been more personal than that?

She took another deep breath to get over her embarrassment. He had a right to ask. And what he had not yet understood was that this part – her confession – was the meaningful part of her sacrifice. The truth she regretted never having said. The deed she never found the courage to do. The guilt she felt she had never amended. "There's more than one reason," she said, a hint of colour on her cheeks again. "While I can't say that I truly liked you all those years, I can't deny that I found you – intriguing. You were intimidating and downright scary at times, but mostly, I found myself awed by your knowledge, your skill and your intellect."

Ah, yes, no surprise there. The brainy Gryffindor admired him for his brains. That, he could understand. It was what she said next that he failed to grasp: "But I always admired you for your courage. You had my utmost respect for your decision to turn your back on Voldemort after taking his mark, and to come back to the Light. It takes a strong character to recognize that a path was wrong and a lot of courage to stop walking it. And considering the sacrifices you made... I was deeply grateful for the countless times you saved us and did your best to protect us, and I regretted that I never thanked you for that. A lot of times while the boys and I were out there together, fulfilling Dumbledore's last mission, I thought of you, sitting alone and isolated from the Order in his office, having to face the wrath of colleagues and students alike and being hated by everyone, when it was all so undeserved..."

In an instant, he was on her again with his doubt. Leaning forward with his hands on his desk, he pinned her with his intense gaze. _Like a bird of prey about to go in for the kill_ , she thought. _Intimidating, dangerous, but still magnificent._

"Let me get this straight," he said, his voice, though low and silky, cutting like steel. "Are you're trying to tell me that _New Year's Eve_ – merely six months after I had cast the killing curse at Dumbledore and was reinstalled at Hogwarts as jeadmaster in hell by no one other than the Dark Lord himself – you thought that I was being unfairly judged, and did _not_ believe me to be a traitor?"

"I never believed you to be a traitor," she responded calmly.

He stared at her disbelievingly. It wasn't possible. She had to be lying. "Everybody did!" he insisted firmly. "Everybody was supposed to believe it! Dumbledore's entire scheme depended on it being convincing, on everybody believing it! And you claim you saw right through it?"

"Well, maybe you're not such a good actor as you think you are," she stated, not even trying to avoid his penetrating gaze. She was no accomplished liar, so he had to take it at face value. "I was, of course, confused about Dumbledore's murder, and for some time, I doubted you. But later, when analysing everything that happened, I couldn't help but notice that so many facts just didn't add up. And when I finally had worked through all of them, I knew that you had never truly turned your back on us."

For a brief moment, his mask slipped and a myriad of expressions flashed across his face. She couldn't decipher them all. There was doubt, surprise and disbelief, but also a brief flicker of something more vulnerable that she didn't wish to dwell on as it had a strange effect on her breathing.

"Explain!" he demanded, obviously still not sure if he should believe her.

"Well, the first strange thing was what happened right in the night of the Death Eater attack: When Professor Flitwick came running to the dungeons and Luna and I ran into you – you didn't hurt any of us. You merely told us to take care of him after you had stunned him. Had you been a true Death Eater, surely you would at least have killed me, now that you finally had your chance. And surely you would have killed or maimed or kidnapped Harry when he came chasing after you. Yet you didn't do anything to him, not even when he threw hexes at you. You merely blocked them and taunted him – like you usually did in class. In fact, it seemed like you were teaching him another lesson in defence.

And finally, although you had supposedly defected and knew the order's hiding place, the Fidelius Charm on the safe house was never compromised. You obviously never gave the secret away. I also knew from Ginny that every torture that was inflicted on students at Hogwarts was carried out by the Carrows, not by you, and that you seemed in fact to be trying your hardest to prevent them from going overboard with their brutal punishments. It all didn't fit in with you being the evil Death Eater.

That all made me wonder... But I was finally convinced of your ongoing loyalty when the sword of Gryffindor suddenly appeared in that lake – just when we needed it most. The very sword that Ginny and Neville had tried to steal from your office without success. A deed for which, by the way, you assigned them a detention with Hagrid, of all people! Ginny told me they had tea and stone cakes and an altogether agreeable afternoon. How did the sword end up in the lake? Someone had to have put it there for Harry to find, someone who didn't want to be seen. And, mysteriously, I suddenly found healing potions and a bezoar in my supplies, none of which I remembered putting there.

I had a lot of time to think things through while we were out there chasing for Horcruxes, and I came up with different scenarios to explain what had happened to Dumbledore... even up to suspecting that everything had been a set-up and that Dumbledore wasn't truly dead..."

"If only..." he muttered, his mind still reeling with her shocking revelation. That anyone had managed to see right through his and Dumbledore's deceit... Had it been anyone but her, it could have proved fatal. If anyone else had drawn the same conclusions, everything could have come crumbling down like a card house, just with more devastation. Voldemort would have killed him. And it would have been a long and extremely painful death.

"It still hurts that we lost Dumbledore," she said sadly. "Hogwarts is not the same without him. I was so incredibly relieved when I heard that you, at least, had survived. I felt horrible for having left you in the Shrieking Shack like we did, even though we thought you were dead at the time. When I got back after the battle, your body was gone – and for the longest time, I feared that the aurors had found and burned your body along with those of Voldemort's followers..."

"You came back for my body?" he asked, astonished. He hadn't known that.

"Well, yes – the least you deserved was a full honours funeral." She averted her gaze and blinked a couple of times. If he didn't know better, he would have thought she was trying to prevent tears from forming in her eyes. "I'm so sorry," she whispered. "We shouldn't have left you without making sure... but there was so much blood, your throat was torn, and we all knew how deadly Nagini's poison was. To think that you were still alive, so severely injured, and in pain, and we just left you to die alone! I felt so guilty when I heard that Draco had saved you – as a matter of fact, I still do. You could have died because of our neglect!" She wiped her eyes, as tears were flowing freely now.

He was strangely touched that she was crying over him. He couldn't remember anyone who ever had.

"Don't," he said curtly, reaching into his pocket and handing her a handkerchief. "It's not worth your tears. You couldn't have known that – as a precaution – I had been taking anti-venin ever since Arthur was attacked in the Department of Mysteries. And, according to the healer at St. Mungo's, my wounds were so severe that even they couldn't believe I pulled through. It must have been a cruel joke of fate, or maybe an oversight on the part of some celestial being. I never expected to survive the war, so I'm just as surprised about my continued existence as you doubtlessly were."

She dabbed her eyes and gave him a tentative smile. "Thank you," she said, and he liked to think that it was for his absolution, not for the handkerchief. For a moment, neither of them spoke a word. He noticed her shifting on the rickety chair, and with an internal sigh and a quick flick of his wand, he transfigured it into a more comfortable, cushioned armchair. She had been sitting there a while and had to have a stiff back by now. While he considered the extra discomfort adequate punishment for the miscreants who usually occupied it, she didn't deserve it. She had known more than enough pain to last a lifetime.

Again, she gave him a grateful smile that somehow made him uncomfortable. Emotional females always did. He cleared his throat.

"Tell me, Miss Granger," he said, wanting nothing more than to steer the conversation away from more dangerous minefields – as if that was at all possible considering what had brought her here, "how come your friends were still ignorant of everything you had figured out until Potter viewed those memories? Judging from your usual habits concerning your schoolwork, I would have guessed that you had shared your findings with your friends – especially any knowledge you had come by before they had."

"I tried, in the beginning," she admitted, ignoring his slight barb. "But their personal dislike for you and their suspicions clouded their judgement. They wouldn't even consider that you might be innocent, especially with all the hard evidence speaking against you."

"I'm hardly innocent, Miss Granger!" he interrupted darkly. "Don't make me for something I'm not."

"Well, but you weren't the villain, either," she insisted stubbornly. "And when I had proof of that, I also realized how important it was to keep your secret. Telling Harry bore the danger of Voldemort reading it in his mind. You were safer if he remained in the dark."

The re-affirmation that she had held concerns for his safety brought on another unfamiliar surge of unease. Even with Dumbledore, it had always taken second place to 'the greater good'. Probably even third or fourth place. He cleared his throat again, this time to make sure that his voice sounded calm and detached. On second thought, he conjured a pot of tea and a cup, and, after a brief internal debate, an extra cup for her. She must have a dry throat after all this endless chattering.

If Granger was surprised by his hitherto unheard of gestures of hospitality, she didn't voice it. Thanking him, she picked up the offered cup, while he picked up the thread of conversation again. "Your pledge for the ritual must have caused quite a stir among your friends if both of them were as ignorant of everything going on as they were expected to be..." he mused, not quite able to hide is discomfort at imagining her – and subsequently his – public humiliation.

Hermione shook her head. "They didn't hear what I promised to do. Witnesses were not required for the pledge, so there was no need to share it with everybody. I just wrote it down on a piece of paper – and then vanished the note. I never wanted my feelings to become known, given how you felt about me, and given that I knew how angry you would be if I had allowed it to become public matter. You were always a very private person..."

 _She hadn't wanted her_ feelings _to become public knowledge?_ He raised an eyebrow in surprise at her phrasing. What feelings? Her admiration for his intellect? Her gratitude for being on the right side after all? Merlin, she was seriously starting to mess with his abilities to think clearly. He needed to get a grip on himself, and get this conversation back under control.

"Well, I appreciate your keeping your perceptions – and your highly questionable choice of sacrifice – to yourself," he said, trying to sound unaffected. "It would have been a major setback in Dumbledore's plans if anybody else had found out at that point."

Frowning, she took another sip of her tea. "You know, I never understood Dumbledore's plan at all," she said disapprovingly. "It had a very low chance of working, not to mention that it was unbelievably cruel. How could he have asked that of you? What if nobody had ever figured out the truth even at the end, if you hadn't managed to give Harry your memories? They would have arrested you as a Death Eater and sent you to Azkaban. That is if they hadn't killed you right on sight, with all the hatred everybody felt. It was incredibly careless and shortsighted planning... he knowingly put you in a very risky position with all his scheming and his obsession for secrecy!"

He almost smiled at her rightful indignation and wished that Dumbledore was here to see. "I was at risk every time I was called in front of the Dark Lord, Miss Granger," he pointed out calmly. "And I was very aware of that, believe me."

"It still was a thoroughly stupid plan!" she insisted, still sounding angry. "How could he have believed that nobody would figure it out? If I could, so should have others... Minerva knew you since you were a student and was here the entire time. How could she not know?"

"Who's to say she didn't?"

She blinked. "Pardon me?"

"Miss Granger - what good is a spy if he has no one to report to? Minerva knew. She was my only contact to the order after I killed Dumbledore."

"She knew?" Hermione repeated dumbfounded. "But – she fought you. She forced you out of Hogwarts right before the final battle. Why did you go back and join their ranks at that point if she knew about your true allegiance?" It didn't make any sense. Everything that had happened to him could have been avoided. Had his double play been revealed at this point he would have been in a much better position to tell Harry what he needed to know. He could have fought on their side.

He sighed deeply. "Because I still had an important mission to fulfil. And that required my cover to be intact."

"I don't understand." She gave him a confused look. "I thought your mission was to let Harry finally know the entire truth... to tell him why he was a Horcrux. That's why you gave him your memories..."

He instantly regretted having revealed too much. She was like a dog with bone. She wouldn't let go now. He could already see the wheels turning rapidly in her head.

"It never made sense to me," she said slowly, "why you of all people should be the one to tell Harry that he had to sacrifice himself for the cause. He was likely to react highly emotionally to that – what 17 year old wouldn't, learning that he had to die? Dumbledore must have known that Harry mistrusted you and that his dislike, after you allegedly murdered the heamaster, would turn into rage and hatred. Why did he think Harry would even listen to you, least of all believe you?"

She blanched and stared at him in utter disbelief, as a suspicion began to form.


	3. A Matter of Life and Death

"Telling Harry the truth was never your mission, was it?" He didn't answer. But he didn't have to. "It was all about the Elder Wand..." Her eyes widened in shock when all the pieces finally came together. Yet she shook her head vehemently, denying the conclusion she had come to. "No!" she said tonelessly. "You couldn't... Dumbledore couldn't have planned this!" But his silence was confirmation enough. " _That_ was the plan? _That_ was your mission? To confront Harry and, if worse came to worst, let yourself be killed?"

Hermione jumped up from her chair, feeling the urge smash something or to hit someone to vent her rage. Preferably Dumbledore. Or even him.

"Miss Granger..." he said, using his most placating tone.

"No!" she cried, outraged. "How could he demand this of you? Why would you even consider to go along with this insanity of a plan?"

"He didn't demand it," her professor replied calmly. "It wasn't _his_ plan. Albus had the vague hope that my killing him – given that he had begged me to do it – would not technically qualify as murder, but as assisted suicide, and that he would thus die undefeated. He hoped that the mastery of the Elder Wand would remain with him. It would have given neither Potter nor the Dark Lord an advantage, and in all likelihood The-Boy-Who-Lived would have become The-Boy-Who-Died."

Hermione could hear bitterness in his voice, which confused her. "So you decided to sacrifice yourself in Harry's stead and provoke him into attacking you?"

"It was the only way to ensure that the mastery of the Elder Wand would be passed to him," he said with cool detachment. "Without the Deathly Hallows, without becoming the Master of Death, Potter most likely would have died. Surely you wouldn't have wanted that."

"But neither would I have wanted Harry to kill you! That's just as horrible! What if Dumbledore had been right and the mastery of the wand hadn't even passed on to you by killing him? It was a mercy killing, after all. You would have died in vain!"

"There is no such thing as a mercy killing with a death curse, Miss Granger. Why do you think it's called an Unforgivable? To kill with 'Avada Kedavra', one has to summon hatred. It's what fuels the curse. Dumbledore finally conceded to the fact and adjusted his plan accordingly."

Hermione wrung her hands in agitation. "Did you and Dumbledore even pause to consider what it would have done to Harry later, after he had learned the truth about your true allegiance?"

"If Potter had killed me instead of just defeating me, he would never have learned the truth. There was no point. I would have been dead anyway."

"How can you be so callous about it?" she demanded, aghast at his casualness when discussing his own death. "You and Dumbledore all but planned your death! I still can't believe this! There must have been another way!"

"Of course!" he agreed ironically. "The easiest way would have been for Potter to kill Dumbledore in my stead. But Albus and I somehow doubted that we'd be able to persuade him to go along with that course of action. Nor could we think of a reasonable explanation to give to the Order and to the Dark Lord as to why Harry Potter killed his beloved headmaster."

"But killing the previous owner of the wand wasn't necessary at all – just disarming was sufficient. That's why Draco had gained mastery of the Elder Wand, not you."

"Indeed, Miss Granger. Still, we couldn't simply stage a duel in which Dumbledore would allow Harry to disarm him. We did a lot of research on the wand and the way it worked, and from what we understood, it can't be cheated like that. As Ollivander said: 'The wand chooses the wizard.' The Elder Wand is drawn to strength. It goes where the power is."

"But a provoked confrontation with you would have been just as staged," Hermione argued. "You are so much more skilled than Harry, he couldn't have defeated you unless you allowed it."

"Potter might not be as experienced, but don't underestimate his magical power. But yes, to gain the mastery of the wand, it was essential for him to be the most powerful of us at the crucial moment. And that's exactly why Potter needed to continue hating me with a vengeance. Hatred is a very powerful thing. I, on the other hand, was resigned to die – just like Dumbledore had been on the Astronomy tower. It was the reason why Draco was able to disarm him and gain the mastery of the wand in the first place."

Hermione frowned. "But neither of you took the wand after killing Dumbledore. It was entombed with him."

"Physical possession of the wand isn't necessary to gain its allegiance. Draco didn't take it because he had no clue. And I didn't take it because that would have been serving it to the Dark Lord on a silver platter. Dumbledore long suspected that the he was after the wand, and we wanted to keep it from him as long as possible. The Dark Lord still didn't know that the wand's allegiance needed to be won in order to use it efficiently. He thought it would be sufficient to be in its possession, and we didn't want him to find out the truth. He was angry with me for not bringing it, but I could feign ignorance, given that he had never confided to me that he wanted it."

"But in order to stick with your and Dumbldore's original plan you had to defeat Draco at some point and thus make yourself the rightful owner of the wand..."

"Yes." He sighed. "That turned out to be the tiny flaw in the plan. It wasn't as easy as I had thought it would be. After all, I had no valid reason to attack my godson, and was still under oath to protect him from harm. Narcissa had to release me from the Unbreakable Vow first, but she proved unwilling – until I appealed to the Dark Lord. Given that he was extremely annoyed with the Malfoys after Potter's escape from their manor, he ordered her to revoke the vow.

After the Easter holidays, I organised practise duels for all 7th year students, supposedly to test their skills in the Dark Arts. I defeated Draco and believed myself to be the master of the Elder Wand right until the moment the Dark Lord disarmed me in the Shrieking Shack. I had no idea that the wand's allegiance had been with Potter ever since he had disarmed Draco at Malfoy Manor."

Hermione shook her head in bitterness. "So a confrontation with Harry, even if you had managed to force it before he faced the Dark Lord, would have been completely pointless. You would have died in vain."

He rubbed his forehead as if trying to wipe away the memories. "That's exactly what I thought when Voldemort defeated me..." he murmured. "That I had failed again. Without the mastery of the wand, Harry had a low chance of surviving the confrontation with Voldemort and his self-sacrifice. The only thing left to do was to give him my memories make sure that he knew what he had to do."

"Dear God – to think that so much depended on Harry possessing all Deathly Hallows!" Hermione felt a rush of anger at the deceased headmaster and his secrecy. They had been manipulated and manoeuvred like chess pieces. "All that Dumbledore left us were cryptic hints and a fairytale book! Why not simply tell us what we needed to know instead of leaving us fumbling around in the dark all this time? What if we hadn't figured it out at all?"

He raised his eyebrow at her. "Albus left the book with you, did he not? Of course you'd figure it out."

She was too agitated to take notice of the implied compliment on her intelligence. "We only understood that the Deathly Hallows truly existed. But Harry never actively tried to get into possession of the Elder Wand, least of all gain its allegiance! It was pure coincidence that he ended up with it."

"Albus was convinced that actively seeking to become Master of Death was not a good way to get there. It was my job to make sure that it happened. He wanted you to know just enough to understand the 'why' in the end, and probably to give Harry a bit of hope for his encounter with the Dark Lord. He didn't have to be in physical possession of the wand. Once Harry had defeated me, he would have been the wand's true master. Voldemort wouldn't have been able to wield its power against him. Dumbledore had hoped that it would backfire on him and kill the Horcrux in Potter instead. As it did. It was a great plan."

"Except for the fact that we wouldn't have known that disarming you would be sufficient for Harry to gain the wand's allegiance! It wasn't in the stupid book! If everything had gone according to your and Dumbledore's great master plan, Harry might have killed you!" She felt an icy shiver running down her spine even now, thinking how easily everything could have gone down the drain.

He raised a curious brow at her. It was about the third time she mentioned it. Obviously, the thought really upset her. He could understand why his demise in the Shrieking Shack might have given her a hard time – guilt wasn't always rational. But other than that, it could only be Potter's hypothetical guilt that she felt concern about... unless his own survival was really that important to her. The idea seemed so strange that he didn't dwell on it.

He merely shrugged his shoulders. "Possibly. But my survival had never been an important factor to consider. It was a risk I was willing to take. I was basically a dead man the moment Lily died."

Her heart constricted at his words. How much he must have suffered to not even consider his life worth living anymore! "You loved her that much..."

She fell into her chair again, her eyes big and dark and full of emotion. He scowled at her. If he had known that he would survive his degrading experience in the Shrieking Shack and that Potter would use his memories to clear his name in a very public trial, he would have exercised more care when selecting them. He might have preferred to bleed out on the floor rather than live on with the fact that his most private affairs had become public knowlegde after making it headline in the Daily Prophet.

"Don't romanticise me into some kind of tragic hero, Miss Granger!" he admonished sharply. "Even if it fits into this absurd image of me that you seem to have made for yourself. I cared for Lily – greatly. But I surely wouldn't have died out of unrequited love for her."

"Then why were you willing to die for her son? You hated him!"

"I didn't hate him! I hated that he wasn't his mother. I hated that I wasn't his father. I hated being in a position where I could never acknowledge..." He broke off. "Never mind."

"Never acknowledge what?"

"It's not important, Miss Granger." What in Merlin's name was wrong with him that he was starting to mindlessly blurt out all of his secrets to her? It was almost like she had dosed him with Veritaserum.

"Yes it is!" she insisted. "There is more to it, isn't there? A reason why you – despite your strong dislike for Harry – watched over him all these years and would even have sacrificed yourself for him. What drove you to do it, if not deep love for his mother?"

Frustrated, he rubbed his forehead and briefly closed his eyes – as if it was possible to forget about the girl's presence and her frightening effect on him when he didn't have to look at her. The wretched chit had the dubious talent to spot every little chink in his armour and attacked mercilessly, twisting the knife with surgical precision. And worst of all, it didn't even hurt that much, so he wasn't really making an effort to defend himself properly.

"Please, don't lie to me now," she pleaded with wide open eyes that conveyed nothing but sympathy and compassion. And just like that, he felt his resistance melt.

"Fine," he grunted, acknowledging defeat. "If you must know and if it will serve to finally make you stop pestering me: I had sworn to his mother to protect him – with my life, if need be."

Hermione was dumbfounded. "But I thought you and Lily... I thought after what happened... she never spoke to you again."

"Did you believe Lily Potter to be that shallow? No, she was very upset with me for a very long time. Too long, as it turned out. By the time she was willing to forgive me, I had found other people to associate with – people who believed that calling her a mudblood was nothing but stating the truth. She could eventually have forgiven me for using the word – but she couldn't forgive me for joining those who believed in the ideology behind it. Still, she continued to care about me, and she knew I still cared about her. She and James were already high on the Dark Lord's hitlist, and she was close to giving birth when I saw her again..."

He got up and walked over to the fake window, turning his back to her as he stared into the stormy night outside that was mirrored in it.

"I was shocked," he continued with an emotion-laden voice. "I hadn't known she was expecting. A few months before, I had given the prophesy to the Dark Lord – a prophesy which, as I suddenly realised, might refer to her child." He paused briefly, and she could clearly see the guilt that was still tormenting him in the posture of his body. "We talked – for hours, in fact. In the end, she made me promise to look out for her child if anything was ever to happen to her and James. She said it would be my atonement."

And with a soft click, another piece of the puzzle finally fell into place. A seemingly small, unimportant one, on the border of the grand picture of things. But it revealed a crucial detail, something that had always been missing without anybody questioning it.

"Children in the magical and the muggle world," Hermione reflected, fixing her eyes on his back, "they usually have two godparents... Why is it that no one ever questioned why Harry had only one?"

Again, he didn't answer.

"Are you Harry's godfather?"

He gave her a glance that was halfway between exasperated and defeated, and sighed. "Not officially. The Dark Lord couldn't ever know."

"Sweet Merlin..." she breathed. She didn't even know what to think. All this time... and Harry had never had a clue. What a cruel entanglement of loyalties, love and debt.

"I suppose Dumbledore knew?"

"Of course he knew. I told him when I defected. It was, above everything else, what convinced him that I was trustworthy."

"And Harry's father – James – he had agreed to it? I thought he hated you."

"He did. But Lily put her foot down. She wanted the best possible protection for her child. And what better protection could he have than that of a man in the camp of the enemy? Potter agreed because he knew I couldn't ever go against my promise. I owed him a life-debt."

"For saving you from Remus in the Shrieking Shack in your fifth year... I know. Remus told us." Her face lit up as she solved yet another riddle. "So that's why Harry never owed you a life-debt, isn't it? You can't owe a life-debt to family members, including godparents, as they would always come to your help, no matter what. I had been wondering about that..."

He snorted. "Of course you had! Is there anything at all that ever escaped your notice, Miss Granger?" All the teachers had commented on her quick mind and intelligence. He had thought she was merely book-wise. But there was no denying it. The girl was frighteningly brilliant. At least, as far as her deductive skills went. She was still incredibly naive when it came to people, though.

She shrugged her shoulders. "Well, this just goes to prove that a lot of things escaped my notice for far too long. I'm glad you told me."

In all honestly, he didn't even know why he had. Maybe because she was so persistent in finding all the answers. It was most irritating. For a moment, the both fell silent, each lost in thoughts and memories.

"I can't even begin to imagine how difficult that must have been," Hermione finally said. What you have been through would have brought a lesser wizard to his knees. You are the strongest person I know, and I equally admire and envy you for that strength, for that capability to endure and carry on and never even lament about it. The sacrifices you made went beyond and above any atonement you might have felt was needed, and well beyond your call of duty. If it wasn't for you and Harry, our world would be different today."

Once more, he found himself speechless. He almost felt the need to look into a mirror – just to make sure it was really him she was talking to. It was almost like she had taken an eye-sweetening potion. The rose-tinted brew made people slightly delusional and immensely optimistic at the same time, and allowed them to see pleasurable things everywhere. It wasn't as harmless as it sounded. When faced with an Acromantula, smiling and commenting 'ah, look at the cute spider!' in all likelyhood got you killed. But she couldn't have taken it. It was impossible to cry or get angry while under the potion's influence, and she had done both.

So how could she view him in such light – an eighteen year old Gryffindor girl, of all people? It made him uncomfortable. It was insane. For some reason he couldn't comprehend, she had painted him a hero in her mind. He wasn't. He could never live up to expectations like that. It made him feel vulnerable and brought all his insecurities back with a vengeance.

She almost sounded – passionate – about him, about the role he was forced to play and how others treated him because of that. He had a hard time getting his mind around the idea. Of course, this was Hermione Granger talking, the girl who had single-handedly started a revolutionary campaign for the liberation of house-elves in her fourth year. She had always been one to stand fiercely at the side of the down-trodden, the mistreated, the misunderstood. That thought was quite a downer. He had no wish to be put in the same category as house-elves, goblins and – Merlin prevent! – Neville Longbottom.

"A most touching evaluation, Miss Granger," he said, making an effort to put on his mask again and hide his inner turbulence behind his sarcasm. "It was missing important bits and facts, but, for what it's worth, you have my thanks. However, it still doesn't explain your desire for the kind of physical intimacy your pledge involved. One usually neither expresses respect or admiration, nor pity by exchanging kisses."

Hermione smiled. What a Snape-like thing to say. So formal, so stiff, so carefully devoid of anything that might reflect positive emotion. It was probably why people thought him to be cold and unfeeling. But it was nothing but an armour. Just like his clothes, which were always too stiff and too formal, with those tightly buttoned sleeves and the tightly bound cravat, and all devoid of colour. But she had learned a long time ago to never take anything at face value, especially not the things that were so blatantly obvious that they screamed 'charade'. She had long found out that a lot of Severus Snape was just an act. And she had grown increasingly curious about the man that was hidden behind the cold and dark facade.

"But one surely does express attraction that way..." she said, blushing again.

* * *

 _A/N: This is an edited version of the original chapter with added content. Hermione and Snape kept having discussions in my mind, and Hermione was pestering him with those very questions that always bothered me. Snape finally came up with some really surprising answers. The secrets he revealed shed a new light on quite a few things, especially with regard to Snape's past and future relationship with Harry. As it fit nicely into the story, I decided to add those revelations that Mrs. Rowlings lamentably kept from us._

 _Also, in the earlier version, I had assumed that Dumbledore didn't know that killing the previous owner was not a requirement to gain allegiance of the Elder Wand. One of my reviewers pointed out that this can't be canon: Dumbledore never killed Grindelwald, and still won the wand's allegiance. So he must have been aware of the fact that defeating or disarming would be sufficient. I changed the story accordingly, as I wanted it to be as close to canon as possible._

 _As to the life-debts mentioned: I went along with what seems to be canon in fanfiction: The idea that a life-debt is a bit more than a moral obligation; something that can be felt physically and has an effect similar to a vow. From what I understand, it's not quite what Ms. Rowlings had in mind._

 _Given that I didn't want to pester my dear beta Dreamthrower with all those relatively small chapter changes, a few paragraphs / sentences haven't been proof-read. All the mistakes you may find are entirely mine, not hers!_


	4. A Matter of Attraction

_My truly wonderful Australien beta, Dreamthrower, obviously did another nightshift (or should I say 'early-morning shift) to edit this chapter, which I just received back from her. There are still one or two sentences 'in discussion', but I didn't want to keep you waiting any longer. Hope you enjoy!_

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" _But one surely does express attraction that way..." she said, blushing again._

He gave another derisive snort. "Your speech about respect, gratitude and admiration was relatively convincing. But I hope you don't expect me to believe that you find yourself attracted to me! I'm twice your age, girl, and surely not a man that turns heads."

Severus had no illusions about his appearance. He was by no one's standard a handsome man. His nose was too big and slightly crooked, his hair fine and prone to get oily. Contrary to rumors, he did place value on personal hygiene and found his daily showers not only necessary, but relaxing. There was just no point in taking them before spending hours over steaming cauldrons with often rather smelly ingredients. He was also fastidious about his teeth and brushed them regularly. But there was only so much his selfmade toothpaste could do - especially since he drank too much coffee and often enjoyed a glass of red wine in the evening. But, he thought, he should probably try to find a supplement for the essence of chamomile in the recipe, which was great for his gums, but probably only added to the problem of staining. At least, now he had the time to invest in luxury problems like that.

He was rather proud though, that despite his almost 40 years, he hadn't developed a paunch. True, he wasn't overly muscular or even athletic, but neither was he as lanky and thin as he used to be as a teenager. His skin had always been too pale and too sallow due to stress and too much time spent inside, and the lines etched in his face were more pronounced than could be justified by age alone.

But he knew very well that attraction - especially sexual attraction - was never based solely on looks. If it were, very few people would get to procreate. There were other things women found alluring, such as intelligence, humour and a strong personality.

Well, he did have a sense of humour, but unfortunately, it was dry and often sarcastic, and his quick wit came with a heartfelt disregard for stupidity. His remarks were often straight to the point, biting and cutting, often downright mean. His tongue was every bit as feared as his wand, a weapon honed to perfection, and it could inflict just as much damage. When it was well-deserved, a small and probably slightly sadistic part in him relished being able to deliver instant punishment without even raising his voice, his hand, or his wand. He could always count on that talent, which gave him a feeling of security. He was never without defences, like he had been when he was younger. But that didn't really make him a nice person, and it certainly didn't make up for his physical deficiencies.

"I'm reasonably sure it is not my charming personality or my friendly disposition that has attracted you, either," he voiced his thoughts on the matter.

She laughed at that. "Friendly? Definitely not! Sarcastic, scornful, even cruel at times. But not without a certain appeal..."

Here it was – she had to lay it all on the table now. After all, that was what she had come for. To tell him the truth. To tell him what she wanted him to know. Even if he would use it to shred her to bits afterwards with his cutting tongue and leave her bleeding on the floor.

She took a deep breath and started her eulogy, which, admittedly, she had recited in her mind often enough that the words came flowing like a river: "You're witty, quick with your words, and possess a wicked kind of humour that I like – when I don't find myself on the receiving end of it, that is. I probably don't even need to tell you about your voice, which it like liquid velvet, even when you use it to insult or intimidate. I also have a special fascination with your movements... The way you stalk the hallways with your billowing robes and dramatic flair, the way you move your hands when you're preparing potion ingredients – you're always lithe, graceful and efficient. Like when you cut Lockhart down to size in that duel... I guess that was the first time I realized what a powerful wizard you really are. You have a very commanding presence, an intensity about you that either drives people away or draws them in. All that makes you very attractive. Maybe not classically handsome in the head-turning kind of way. But definitely in the way of tall, dark and dangerous."

She saw his eyebrow rise in a manner that indicated disbelief and annoyance, though she had no idea what might have evoked the latter.

Little did she know that his Death Eater persona had more than once prompted a hormone-driven teenage witch, who doubtlessly had read too many dark romance novels, to think herself in love with him. He had been the youngest professor Hogwarts had ever seen, given that he had gained his mastery under the tutelage of the Dark Lord in record time. When he had started teaching, he had been barely a few years older than his seventh year students. Back then, before constant stress and anxiety had worn him down, his appearance had been more pleasing, too.

He had rejected all these advances, be they subtle attempts at flirting or blatant indecent proposals, and he had never deluded himself into thinking that there had been no ulterior motive behind it. But the model student who was looking at him now, flustered and with a slight blush on her face, surely didn't need to push her grades.

"Is that the appeal you find in me, Miss Granger?" he asked snidely. "Death Eater and spy, a powerful wizard knowledgeable in the Dark Arts?" He was fully aware that he held some kind of allure for a particular kind of woman. Women who were attracted to his dark side, who found some kind of twisted thrill in being treated in bed just like he treated people outside of it. It wasn't gentleness, tenderness or compassion they were looking for.

With women who weren't students, he had indulged himself and taken advantage of their fascination while it lasted, as it seemed the only thing he had to offer. But it was just another role he had played, and sometimes, he had detested himself for it. To think that she might be one of those women sickened him.

"Are you hoping to tame the beast – a man with a black soul who has committed more depravities than you can imagine?" he asked in a low and velvety, yet menacing voice, as if to give her a taste of this thrilling mixture of sensuality and danger. "Is it this darkness in me that draws you in? Or is it the idea of courting danger that thrills you?"

"No!" she protested too quickly, before averting her eyes and relenting: "Or maybe yes, a bit." She bit her lip, embarrassed. "What you call your darkness might be a part of the attraction, I won't deny that, but..." She was desperately trying to find the right words to make him understand, to show him what she saw when she looked at him. It obviously wasn't what he saw in himself. He didn't seem to like himself very much, despite all his accomplishments, his power and the image of strength he projected. She could sense self-doubt beneath it, and it made her heart go out to him.

"You do a very good job of not letting anybody see that you're human underneath your spiky defences. And despite my attraction, I often find myself intimidated by you, so I can't completely distinguish between your Death Eater persona and the man I know is also hidden beneath. Just by being in a position of authority over me, you have the power to make my life difficult and cause me discomfort. And since I – as you obviously noted – find myself longing for your approval, you also have the power to hurt me. But I would trust you with my life, anytime."

Before she could think about her spontaneous gesture, she reached out and covered his hand, which lay on the desk in front of him, with hers. He instantly tensed, and for a moment, she thought he would pull it away. But he didn't, though his gaze remained slightly alarmed and wary.

"You're a good man, Professor, I know that you are," she said with heartfelt sincerity. "You've proven it time and time again. I would never find myself attracted to you if you were a man like Lucius Malfoy. He's dark at heart."

"So am I. Don't delude yourself."

"No." She shook her head with utter conviction. "The darkness that surrounds you is not the darkness of evil."

"Are you trying your hand at muggle psychology now? What do you know about my heart?" He took his hand away and folded his arms in front of his chest, his armour firmly back in place. "But, pray, enlighten me! What is your theory about my darkness?"

His defensiveness silenced her for a moment. She had intruded way too far into his personal space, and it was easy to see that he was not at all comfortable with it. "I'm not sure I should voice my thoughts on this," she said hesitatingly. "You're right, it's preposterous."

"No, Miss Granger, I insist. I believe I should know who you think this person is that you want to kiss you."

"Well, then... I think your darkness is born out of sadness, of grief, guilt and loneliness. You loved Harry's mum, and you lost her, twice; the first time when you lost her friendship, and a second time when she died after you had gained it back. It's obvious that you feel guilty about that, though it's equally obvious that you don't bear lone responsibility for this loss."

"Believe me, Miss Granger, I am fully aware of my failings and my shortcomings. I called her a mudblood. I joined ranks with people who thought she was worth no more than the dirt beneath their feet. I unknowingly assisted the Dark Lord in killing her by giving him a part of the prophesy. And I wasn't able to prevent her murder."

Hermione shook her head. "You spoke rashly in hurt and anger, as we all do every now and then," she said gently, but insistingly. "And you apologized for it. Yet she chose not to forgive you. That was her responsibility. Yes, you joined the Death Eaters, and that was a mistake, but you turned back to the Light and fought them from within. You didn't know that the prophesy referred to her unborn son. It was Pettigrew who sold the Potters out, not you. I imagine you easily take responsibility for occurrences that you are only partly – if at all – to blame for. You're a most unforgiving man with your students, Professor. It's easy to assume that you're equally unforgiving with yourself."

Though he took care not to show it, he was rather impressed. Her characterization had hit the mark. For a girl so young, she had gained a rather astonishing, if not downright frightening insight into his psyche.

"You seem to have given my actions and my possible motivations a lot of thought..." he commented, taking another sip from his cup and pondering the enigma that was Hermione Granger. She must have studied him for a long while to draw these conclusions. Since when? And most importantly – why?

"Yes. I guess that's what having a crush commonly entails..."

He almost choked on his tea. Now _here_ was a sobering idea. "A crush, Miss Granger? Have I somehow come to replace Mr. Lockhart in your desires?"

She blushed again, more profoundly this time. "Don't remind me! And please don't put yourself into the same category as him."

"You just did that by implying that you had a crush on me," he pointed out, not really flattered by what she had probably meant as a compliment. A crush was nothing but an infatuation with a person one didn't really know. It was childish and immature.

"Well, not a crush, then," she conceded. "I can't believe I was so silly to ever have a thing for Lockhart. Such a fraud!"

"Not many would find an attraction to me any more reasonable. Quite the contrary, in fact." There was a lot people could rightfully say about him, but he couldn't be accused of holding illusions about himself.

Hermione wasn't sure if his misgivings still held true. He had changed after the war. Yes, he was still snarky and the strictest teacher at Hogwarts, who disciplined his class with harsh criticism, sarcasm and an exaggerated deduction of house points. But ever since the war, insults were dished out equally among all houses and had lost at least some of their sting. In fact, Hermione often found them quite witty. All in all, his attitude seemed to be born out of habit rather than a reaction to stress, anger and tension.

With the fall of Voldemort, a heavy burden must have been lifted off his shoulders. He was finally a free man, no longer bound by the vows he had taken, the Dark Mark that had controlled him, or the guilt he had carried for far too long. His name was cleared and an order of Merlin had swayed public opinion in his favour. He was free to live his new life however he pleased. The extensive healing he had undergone to counter the after-effects of Nagini's poison seemed to have cured more than the most pressing damage. He looked healthier than before – obviously, the long convalescence had done him a world of good. Hermione suspected that it had been the first decent rest he'd gotten in years.

All effects combined had eased out the lines of tension and worry in his face and left him looking years younger. His new hairstyle only added to that impression. Rumour had it that, initially, he had lost all his hair due to the treatment. Whether that was true or if he had just gotten it cut, his hair was much shorter now and not lanky anymore. In fact, the 'new Snape' very much reminded Hermione of the muggle actor who had played the part of Mr. Darcy in one of the Jane Austen movie adaptions. He also reminded her of aloof Mr. Darcy himself, which was an added bonus. He still had that genteel paleness, too, probably from spending too much time in the dungeons. But it went well with his ebony hair and eyes, and even his nose, literally his most outstanding feature, just added character to his face.

"I believe you're selling yourself short, Professor. So what if someone is not conventionally pretty? They might still have hidden assets." She frowned, and the tone of her voice carried resentment and defiance when she added: "I hate that people dictate how to dress or how style our hair, and who and what to like or to dislike. If you're not in line, people frown upon you and treat you as social pariah. They judge every book by the cover and don't even bother to see what's really inside. What's wrong with preferring a book or a decent discussion over snogging in the hallways?"

He arched an eyebrow. "You have me a bit confused, Miss Granger. Are we still talking about me, here?"

A fleeting smile crossed her face envisioning her prim Potions professor caught 'snogging in the hallways'. Not that she had ever had troubles imagining him in the throes of passion... she just strongly suspected that the term 'snogging' wouldn't apply, and that, sure as hell, it wouldn't be in the hallways. Not with a man who considered smiling in public nothing short of indecent.

"Well, probably not exclusively. We're kind of in the same boat here, I guess. People base their assumptions on surface impressions and use those to sort us into neat little boxes. Yours reads 'git', mine simply reads 'bookworm'. They think me too logical, too brainy, too uptight to be anything else."

"Like what?" he inquired, wondering if she wasn't doing people injustice. There were far more adjectives that came to his mind to describe her.

"Like emotional, passionate, desirable."

Yes, those probably, too.

With any other girl he would have believed that she was fishing for compliments. But not Hermione Granger. She had never struck him as particularly vain, but rather cognizant of the fact that beauty lies in the eye of the beholder. Not that she wasn't beautiful in her own way. She had turned into a remarkably attractive young woman with her wild hair and warm eyes. Surely she must know that boys of her age were intimidated by her intellect and her maturity and were simply protecting their self-esteem by feigning disinterest for the most ridiculous reasons. Yet he could sense hurt and bitterness in her explanation, which made him wonder...

"Is that the reason why you pledged that you would ask for a kiss? Are you doubting that men would find you... kissable?"

He couldn't believe that he had used that word, even less voiced it aloud. But he still wanted to get to the heart of the matter and find out if her insecurities ran deeper than he had thought.

Well, no." She blushed deeply. "It's not that I've never been kissed, Professor." God, to have him think she was hoping for a pity kiss! "It's just that – well, given previous experimentation in the field, people's assumptions about me might be right after all, and those concerns were probably on my mind."

Telling the man whom she wanted to kiss her that she might be frigid was probably not the best approach. Unless he had some sort of hero complex, which certainly wasn't the case with him. Nor was he a hormonally driven teenager who felt the constant need to prove his sexual prowess. Despite the awkwardness, she hadn't hesitated to answer his question truthfully. She had been nothing but truthful with him, and she intended to keep it that way.

He felt an equal measure of relief and astonishment. "Why? Because Mr. Weasley's efforts failed to ignite passion in you?" He snorted disdainfully. "He is an immature, adolescent boy whose brain, in this phase of his development into whatever the final outcome might be, is lamentably smaller than his libido. It's a quite common ailment at that age, I'm afraid. What I don't understand is why you would take the blame for his obvious shortcomings."

"Well, for one, Lavender never complained..."

Miss Brown – indeed! Here was another breathing example of the fact that brain and other bodily functions didn't always develop at the same rate, and unfortunately, in some cases, never reached the same level of maturity. He didn't hold much hope for Miss Brown in that respect. "Do I really need to comment on that, Miss Granger? Let's just say that she and Mr. Weasley match perfectly. You, however, were never a match for him."

She gave him a tentative smile. "Given that you've never tried to hide your rather low opinion of Ron, I probably shouldn't take that as an insult to my person."

His gaze was reprimanding. "Don't be ridiculous! Mr. Weasley is a dunderhead. He wouldn't be able to recognize your hidden assets if they hit him in the face."

Hermione's mouth locked in a silent 'oh' for a moment. Twisted as it had been – she was pretty sure that Severus Snape had just paid her a really nice compliment. She only wished she knew what he thought those hidden assets to be...

"Just for the sake of this analysis: Was this – experimentation – with Mr. Weasley the only basis for your assumption, Miss Granger?"

Again, she was struggling to hide her surprise. Her Potions professor was not-so-subtly inquiring about her sexual experience. Maybe there was hope yet...

"Well, there was this moment with Viktor Krum in my fourth year," she freely admitted, "but I'm not sure if that counts."

"Why wouldn't it?"

"Because I hadn't been at all attracted to him in the first place. I merely wished to prove to Ron that I was, in fact, a girl, and let him know that other people had taken notice."

"I see," he answered, all the more convinced that Weasley was an idiot. As if hadn't been clear that she was female even before she had dressed to the nines so the fact could punch everybody in the face. "But surely you are aware that it's neither sound nor scientific to postulate any theory on the basis of one or two experiments..."

"I know. Which is another reason why I pledged that, if I survived the war, I would ask you to kiss me."

It didn't make any sense. "Why me – the very person you believe to suffer from the same affliction?" he asked. He was aware that people thought of him as cold and unfeeling, and why shouldn't they? He had become quite proficient in shoving unwanted emotions into some far corner of his mind and hiding them behind the walls of his occlumency. Showing emotions was a sure way to get into dire straits.

" _I_ never thought you incapable of passion!" Hermione protested. "It's just what most students did. I always believed them to be wrong."

"Again – based on which facts, Miss Granger?"

"Because you have so much passion in you – it's blatantly obvious!" the unfathomable girl declared. "Your passion for potion-making, for instance. I find myself mesmerized just listening to you lecturing on the subject and by watching you brew."

"That is hardly the same thing..."

"Yes it is! It's about dedication, doing something you obviously love doing, about putting care, thought and effort into it and allowing it to 'bewitch the mind and ensnare the senses'...as you so eloquently put it in our first potion lesson..."

"Well, in that case you have nothing to be concerned about, because your love for books and acquiring knowledge seems to be the very same thing. Maybe you would have managed to limit your essays to the required inches of parchment if you hadn't poured quite that much passion into your assignments."

She couldn't be sure, but she thought she detected a trace of amusement in his expression. But he definitely had a point there. She had obviously mistaken enthusiasm for passion. "You're right," she agreed. "It probably _is_ a different kind of passion. But take your love for Lily..."

"It wasn't the passionate kind of love," he interrupted. "I assumed we had already established that."

"Nevertheless, it was devotion. A man without passion couldn't possibly have given so much of himself, could not have made so many sacrifices and could not have found his life's purpose in such commitment to another person."

"Have you not committed yourself just as much to Potter? Have you not made sacrifices for which you paid dearly? How is your devotion to your friend any different? We never really got anything in return, though, not even a 'thank you', which makes me wonder if we should call it devotion, passion or rather idiocy."

"It was the right thing to do!" she objected vehemently. "And contrary to what you believe, Harry did thank me for it. He gave me his friendship in return. He would have died to save me in Malfoy Manor, if he'd been given the chance, and so would I! He has earned my loyalty and devotion a thousand times over!"

"You feel quite passionate about that, don't you?" he asked, smirking now.

"I do..." she said, astonished. She had never looked at it that way before. A slow understanding smile spread across her face. "Thank you!

"Whatever for?" he asked, feigning ignorance. "I'm merely indulging you in your wish to discuss passion and take pleasure in rebutting your arguments." He couldn't seriously be trying to boost the self-esteem of a Gryffindor! Granted, it was late and he was feeling a bit mellow after having had his own ego stroked in a hitherto unprecedented way... but he didn't coddle his students, ever. Nor did he care about other people's insecurities. He had enough of his own.

"No." She smiled that soft smile again, that somehow seemed to touch and melt something within him. "You are doing what you often do: Being secretly nice and hoping that nobody takes notice."

Her most hated Professor was not as successful in this endeavour as he probably thought he was. She had noticed. Despite all his cruel remarks and all the point taking – the potion marks everybody got at then end of the year were always strict, but fair. And no matter how many points he unjustly deducted from Gryffindor in his lessons – somehow, those losses were miraculously regained within the day.

Again, nobody seemed to take notice of this. But she had become suspicious, and thus had carefully observed and kept charts of the house points for the duration of an entire month. And had realized that Gryffindor's most outrageous losses – like those deducted for sneezing or answering a question too elaborately – somehow failed to materialize in the hourglass. Snape must have secretely awarded house points to replace some of those he had nastily taken beforehand. Sure, he was still biased and favoured his own house – but not more so than any other teacher.

"And you think that kissing you could fall into the same pattern of rather pathologic behaviour?" he asked. In this case, his 'secretly being nice' demanded a whole lot of discretion. He needed to trust that she would keep her mouth shut – well, not during the kissing, but afterwards. He shook his head in an effort to clear his mind. What was he thinking? She had stirred so many things up from the bottom that the waters were getting murky – the idea of kissing her suddenly didn't seem quite as ridiculous as it had been when she had proposed it to him in the first place. Looking at her now, as she was biting her lower lip nervously, he realized that he even found it appealing.

"I would surely hope so, but..." She sighed. "I guess it doesn't matter that much. As I said, it wasn't so much about the kissing as about having this conversation with you: telling you how I feel about you, thanking you for all you have done for us, asking forgiveness for having failed you. And I hope that you won't think any less of me now that you know..." She broke off, determination being replaced by insecurity once again.

"I don't, Miss Granger."

She let out a relieved breath and visibly relaxed. "Thank you, Sir. I know that you always disliked me, but I dreaded to think that after this..."

He frowned. "I do not dislike you, nor did I ever. Why would you think that?"

The girl gave him a look of surprise. "Well, it's certainly no secret that you hold little regard for Gryffindors in general and for friends of Harry Potter in particular... and don't tell me that was just for show, because I won't believe it."

His smirk, for once, was without malice. "True. I have a tendency to hold grudges. And because of those, I never liked Harry Potter. However, I never judged you guilty by association. You managed to annoy me just by your own efforts."

There was no real bite in his comment, either, and Hermione thought he might even be hiding mild amusement. "Was it the incessant hand-waving, the overlong essays, or the regurgitating of things I read in a book that you found most off-putting? Or maybe my pointless efforts to prove myself to you? Unless it was simply me being an insufferable know-it-all..."

"A little bit of all the above," he echoed her words from earlier. "Except for being a know-it-all."

That had her confused. "Why insult me like that, then?"

He raised his eyebrow at her. "Whoever said it was meant to be an insult?"

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 _Okay, I admit I made another cut here... The original chapter went on for another six pages, so I guess that might justify an extra one. So Dreamthrower is right, you'll be getting two more chapters after this :)  
_

 _PS: Alan Rickman unfortunately never played the part of Mr. Darcy. (What a pity - wouldn't that have been great?!) But he was a brilliant Colonal Brandon in 'Sense and Sensibility'. I guess a Severus with shorter hair would have looked much like him. Only darker, of course. ;) **  
**_


	5. A Matter of Conscience

_Yippy yeah - the reviews are back! Thank you very much, everybody! And thank you again, Dreamthrower, for your valuable input! I owe you two sentences ;)_

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 _"Who ever said it was meant to be an insult?"_

She kept staring at him with wide eyes, not comprehending.

"Oh, come on, Granger," he said, and her heart gave a little jump at his informal use of her surname. "You're a bright witch. I thought you had figured it out by now. Do you honestly believe being knowlegeable is a flaw? You're studious and diligent in your work, you always went beyond and above what was asked of you. You lose yourself in books, always searching for knowledge which you soak up like a sponge. Nobody really understood your fascination with learning, the drive to excel. Can't you guess who you reminded me of?"

"You..." she breathed.

"Indeed. How could I find fault with your willingness to listen and learn, when the majority of students were either totally ignorant, lazy or too conceited to take up the opportunity they were given to learn something of value? No wonder you outdid every one of them."

Hermione felt as if she had been sucked into an alternate universe. Was it really possible that Professor Snape, who never ever dished out outright compliments, not even to Slytherins, was singing her praises? Was _that_ what he really had thought about her all those years? It was too good to be true.

"What I disliked was your lamentable insistence to flaunt your knowledge at everybody in such a painfully blatant way. Had you been more subtle about it, as I repeatedly tried to suggest, it would have put you less in the limelight and my behaviour less under scrutiny. I could hardly compliment you on your intelligence in a class full of Death Eater children, could I? Lucius Malfoy was already constantly whining in my ears because you got better marks than Draco most of the time. I had a hard time justifying it."

"You had to justify my classwork to the Malfoys?" Honestly, that idea had never crossed her mind. She probably was a way-too-straightforward Gryffindor with too little understanding for Slytherin intrigue and politics.

"As a matter of fact, yes. Apart from wishing to keep an eye on Draco's closest competition, Lucius was on the school board, and the Dark Lord expected his reports to confirm the ideology of pure-blood supremacy. Admitting that a Muggleborn was outdoing even the smartest Slytherin was something you had better not do without a credible explanation."

"What did you tell him?"

He had a strange expression on his face. "I told Lucius that you were earning your 'E's the hard way – by doing extra credits in your free time." The meaningful look he gave her told her exactly what kind of extra credit he had hinted at. It made her gasp in surprise.

"You told him you were giving me better marks in exchange for sexual favours?" Hermione was shocked. Then confused. And then, strangely enough, a little excited to imagine that the object of her secret affection had – for whatever nefarious reason – entertained entirely inappropriate fantasies about her.

"Yes." His gaze was focussed attentively on her face, gauging her reaction. There had been utter surprise, mild consternation and some embarrassment, but none of the outrage he had expected. Despite her earlier confession of her weird and misplaced attraction to him, that should have been the natural reaction to his revelation. But if her rosy cheeks, her dilated eyes and the slight hitch in her breathing were any indication... Merlin! Snape shifted uncomfortably in his chair. The chit was a serious threat to his sobriety. "Malfoy believed I took advantage of my position with all Muggleborns that way," he added, not quite sure if this made things better or worse. "It also served as justification for my reluctance to participate in certain – entertainments."

Hermione preferred not to ponder exactly what kind of activities he was talking about, but her expression must have given her suspicions away. He rolled his eyes. "No, I'm not talking of revels, orgies and a mass raping of muggle virgins, which, as rumour had it, were common Death Eater activities. That's utter nonsense. I guess 'the Light' was not above spreading horror stories for propaganda purposes, either. But there were a lot of social gatherings with Death Eaters of both sexes in attendance that basically served one purpose: to challenge or defend the pecking order. There was a lot of distrust and scheming among Voldemort's followers. To obtain a more favourable position in the hierarchy, they would try to form alliances through bribery, ass kissing and the exchange of sexual favours. I preferred to not attend as often as possible."

"Oh, well, I'm glad I was good for something then," she commented rather drily, but secretly relieved that the horrible things that had been whispered were not all true. Feeling quite daring after his unexpected frankness, she added mischievously: "That's assuming I was any good... Was I?"

He quirked a brow, surprised at her cheek. Teasing and sexual banter was definitively nothing he had ever expected from a student, and it was all the more surprising coming from her. "You quite exceeded my expectations, Miss Granger," he agreed, taking it a bit further than he probably should. But hell, the entire conversation had lost all sense of propriety long ago, there was no way to save it.

Her face fell in disappointment. "I should have guessed," she grumbled. "You really never give an 'outstanding' in any subject, do you?"

He had to fight hard to stifle a laugh. She really was angry with him for never granting her the mark she desired! But an 'O' – he couldn't have done it. Not without giving Malfoy a detailed and believable description of each degrading act she had supposedly performed to get more than an 'E' from him. And that would have felt like soiling her. She hadn't deserved that.

"Well, it seems I have to correct one of my previous assumptions then..." Hermione said, sounding resigned. "It is only I who people think of a passionless, prudish bookworm. You obviously have a different reputation among your peers." When the words left her mouth, she already regretted them. She had meant it to be a joke at her own expense, but he probably found no amusement in Death Eaters believing him to take advantage of his students. Severus Snape, she was sure, was a man who valued his honour very much. And it must have been hard enough to maintain even shreds of it with all he was required to do in the name of the greater good.

"Yes, I was believed to be a lecherous and desperate paedophile who abuses the muggleborn children in his care," he confirmed sarcastically. He had also been labelled a traitor and a murderer, and he had been accused of favouritism, all of which had been true. The only honour he had always managed to maintain was the responsibility towards his students. And to have it soiled even in the mind of sick perverts like Malfoy had hurt.

"I'm sorry," she apologised quickly. "I didn't mean it like that. Nobody who knows you would ever think such a thing. It's ridiculous."

Nobody who knew him? He almost gave a bitter laugh. "The last person who really knew me died at my hands on the Astronomy Tower." That had been the worst part. He had been forced to kill the only person who had ever trusted him. All the other people – his colleagues, his fellow order members, his students – had been quick to believe the worst of him. He couldn't blame them, though. "Nobody knows me, Miss Granger. I took too much care to push people away."

"Why did you?" she asked, her voice and expression too serious to reflect idle curiosity.

"Isn't it obvious?" he asked back. "It was safer that way." It wasn't the entire truth, though. Sure, his role had forced him to act particularly nastily towards Muggleborns in general and Harry Potter and associates in particular. Given that he had never shared the pure blood ideology, he had covered his reluctance to show contempt towards Muggleborns by simply being nasty to everybody, except for his Slytherins. And honestly, being nasty towards the boy who looked just like James Potter hadn't been difficult.

He had been quick to punish and had never known how to praise. He was convinced that, when teaching a potentially dangerous subject as potions, being 'nice' to students wasn't helpful. They mistook friendliness for leniency. It encouraged behaviour he could ill afford in his classroom, where the slightest insubordination could lead to disaster. He had to be strict and demanding – it kept students from exploding their cauldrons and blowing up the classroom. But what had been a means to instil discipline and keep students in line had become a habit, and they had quickly learned to beware of his cruelty.

His overall nasty temper had also kept his colleagues at distance, who could not be allowed to know him differently. It had served him well with his fellow Death Eaters, too, whom he mostly despised and whose company he neither enjoyed nor wished to feign enjoyment for. His sourpuss reputation had saved him from having to socialise with them all too often. Harshness had been the armour that had protected him when his service to Dark Lord had forced him to kill, to maim and to torture.

Over the years, he had perfected his persona, forgetting that it was just that – a disguise to hide behind. His constant scowl, the cutting remarks, the intimidating robes – it all had become second nature. And somewhere along the line, he had simply gotten used to everybody looking at him with fear in their eyes. In Albus' greater scheme, it had proved an advantage. In reality, it had left him lonely.

"All of that can change now," she said softly. "You don't have to be like that anymore."

"I guess not. But it's hard to break a life-long habit."

"You already did," she pointed out, "by talking to me. In order to continue on that path, you could tell Harry."

He looked at her with an expression that, apart from displaying irritation, seemed forlorn and – if she wasn't thoroughly mistaken – held a hint of trepidation. It probably wasn't surprising. For a man like him, it must sound like she was asking him to lay his soul bare.

"And what good would it do?" he asked, avoiding her gaze by staring into his empty tea cup instead. No, she decided, it wasn't just that he hated the thought of having a heart-to-heart of any kind with Harry. It was the fear of rejection.

Her heart went out to that incredibly complex man who somehow managed to be harsh and soft, cruel and caring, strong and vulnerable at the same time. More than anything she wished she could build bridges – between him and her, him and Harry. Bridges that would lead him on a new, happier path and make it possible to leave his past behind.

"Harry needs to understand..." she tried to make him see things from a different point of view. "He thought he did, but he still doesn't know the full extent of your involvement in everything, nor does he know the entire story of your relationship with Lily. If he knew that you were his godfather..."

"Then what? Do you think it would make him happy? Knowing the full truth won't erase the past. Nothing can erase that – or the fact that I am indirectly responsible for all his losses. I made him a target of the Dark Lord, I made him an orphan, and I stood by when he was given into the care of his horrible aunt, who I knew had always detested wizards and witches and who I knew to have always been jealous of her sister. And when he finally he came to Hogwarts, I couldn't help but add to his torment – because of the role I had to play, but also because I hated the very sight of him: A miniature copy of his father, looking at me with Lily's accusing eyes, a personification of all my guilt and all I had once desired. I protected him as well as I could, but I still detested him."

"You can't be blamed for the actions of his relatives," Hermione argued. "Harry had the best protection he could get while he was still in their care. And it's not as if you had a choice in the matter. Could you have been nicer to him when he came to Hogwarts? Only you can answer that question. But from what I understand, you promised that you would protect him – which you did – not to like him or to be nice to him."

"I'm sure Mr. Potter will appreciate the distinction!" he said sarcastically. "No, Miss Granger – telling him now that I was the person into whose hands his mother had entrusted his well-being would only be adding insult to injury. He might hold some grudging respect for me, given his Gryffindor nature and the concomitant penchant for hero worship, but why on Earth would he want a godfather who never even liked him or paid him any sympathy, much less any kindness?"

"With all due respect, Sir, I think you are misjudging Harry – again. He would understand. He might be a bit emotional sometimes and have a tendency to act before thinking, but he also has an instuitive understanding for people and a capacity of forgiveness. And as to showing kindness – well, I guess that's entirely up to you, isn't it? Getting along with family isn't always easy, nor is it instinctive. It often requires effort and good will. I'm a hundred percent sure that Harry would make an effort, if you only gave him a chance. He would be overjoyed to learn that he still has family – and he will be especially proud that it's you."

He obviously couldn't believe that. Stubborn man. She had never met a man who judged himself so harshly and as unjustly as he was judging himself. No wonder nobody could live up to his expectations, if he couldn't even do it himself. She tried a different approach.

"Don't you realise that your are one of the two persons left who really knew his parents and could tell him about them? That you are the only who knew his mother as a child?"

He didn't answer, but she had the feeling that he was seriously pondering her arguments. Which was a vast achievement in itself. Somehow, she had at least managed to earn his respect. It was quite an exhilarating thought.

"If we're going to continue this conversation, I need a Firewhisky," he finally sighed. He got up and walked to a cabinet in a corner of his office, retrieving a bottle of Odgen's Finest and two glasses. "You too?"

"You're offering me Firewhisky?" Hermione asked, flabbergasted.

"Obviously!" he stated drily, then added: "You're of age, are you not? Besides, we spent the last two hours overstepping boundaries, so we might as well go the whole way."

She sincerely wished he'd go the whole way with her, but most likely, it was not what he had meant. "Firewhisky sounds like a good idea," she agreed. "But I'll only have a small glass."

"I'm not giving you more than a small glass. You're audacious enough when sober, I fear to consider what you might do when inebriated."

She grinned, pleased that he was taking such a relaxed tone with her. "Are you afraid I might endanger your virtue?" she dared to tease back.

He scowled. Given that she was not far off the point with her question, he preferred not to actually give an answer. Setting the glass in front of her, he settled back into his chair. "Behave, Miss Granger!" he just admonished.

"Hermione."

"Pardon me?"

"Well, since we're sharing a drink and have been discussing fairly intimate matters, I think you might as well call me by my given name. At least while we're here. I think we have an unspoken agreement that what happens in this office, stays in this office."

"Very well. If you insist – Hermione." She liked how her name sounded from his lips.

"How shall I address you?"

He fixed her with a stern gaze. "Professor Snape," he answered. "I will not give you permission to address me by my given name. You've taken far too many liberties with me as is."

She probably had. And part of her still couldn't believe that he hadn't ripped her head off for blatantly displaying each and every typical Gryffindor characteristic he despised, including a show of foolish bravery, painful bluntness and prying curiosity. She knew it was more than enough to make him grind his teeth, even without adding overbearing familiarity to the list.

"Yes, Sir." She seemed contrite. "I apologise."

He sighed. The girl was causing him vexation in places he'd thought had long since ceased to care. "There's not need to apologise. You may, however, stop calling me 'Sir' every other sentence. It's not exactly furthering your cause, you know..."

"I... well, I guess it has become a habit. You have been my teacher for six years, after all."

"I am still your teacher now," he pointed out solemnly. "Which is why this entire conversation and the fact that we're drinking Firewhisky in my office is disconcerting. Do you see how that might be an issue?"

"As you pointed out, I'm not a minor anymore. I reached maturity in the wizarding world over a year ago, and with my last birthday, I'm also considered an adult in the Muggle world. And that's not even taking into account my altered age due to the use of the time-turner in my third year, which, after my calculations, has added about 10 months to my real age."

He quickly did the math. So she must be about 19 – not that much younger than he had been when he had started teaching at Hogwarts. In fact, he had not been much older than his seventh year students back then. "It still doesn't change the fact that, until the end of term, you are my student." And it also didn't change the fact that he was still almost 20 years her senior.

She merely shrugged. "I don't believe age and status matter that much. My parents were 15 years apart, and had a great marriage. And my aunt ended up happily married to the master optician she had apprenticed under."

He didn't point out that a student-teacher relationship was not quite the same thing. If she were his apprentice, things might be different.

Hermione didn't notice his wistful expression as he turned his head away. "I often feel that I don't really belong with people of my own age," she said dejectedly. "I can't talk to them. Not like I can talk to Minerva, or Lupin, or you."

He wasn't sure if she was merely stating facts, stating those facts so that he wouldn't feel quite as degenerated to even consider kissing her, or if she was actually saying that she really liked him and enjoyed his company. It was safer not to ponder that.

"Age and status might not matter to you," he said calmly, "but I assure you it very much matters to others. It matters to me. Never in my career have I abused my authority over a student in such a way. As a professor, I took an oath to protect, to foster, and to support the students in my care on their way to adulthood. Though I might have failed them in that, given that my support was biased and probably qualified as 'tough love' at best, I've never compromised my honour or that of a student. Doing what you apparently want me to do... it would be totally inappropriate, irresponsible, outrageous in the eyes of most people."

Hermione lowered her eye, feeling all the more contrite. She hadn't thought things through, apparently. Yes, she had told him everything he needed to hear, and probably more. But not in her wildest dreams would she have imagined that things would develop this far... She would never have guessed that he would open up to her like he had, that he would let her see a part of him that he so carefully kept hidden. She hadn't considered that her confession would affect him just as much as it had affected her, or that she might be putting him in a position where his honour was fighting temptation. And if she was not completely mistaken, that's exactly what had happened.

"I don't care much about what people might think," she answered just as softly. "The only opinion that counts to me in this matter is yours. But I completely understand if you feel that way – you had and will always have my respect for being an honourable man. And I'm grateful to you for listening and talking to me tonight."

She put her empty glass back on his desk and reluctantly rose from her chair. "I guess I'd better head back to Gryffindor tower. It has gotten awfully late... "

Severus said nothing, neither did he agree, nor ask her to stay. He just studied her face, which once again displayed all her emotions like an open book. He needed no Legilimency to read her.

She didn't really want to leave – going meant letting go of him, too. She would probably never see and speak to him like this again, and it saddened her beyond measure. At least she would have this memory to keep.

When she reached the door, she gave him a departing smile. "I honestly enjoyed talking to you, Professor. Thank you."

"Miss Granger?"

His voice made her turn back around. "Yes?"

He had also gotten up from his chair and stood facing her, arms crossed in front of his chest.

"If Miss Lovegood was present right now, I'm fairly sure she'd point out to you that you still have a bunch of over-excited and slightly annoyed looking Netherfairies buzzing around you..."

She gave him a puzzled glance. "Sir?"

He chuckled. "The vow... do you feel any different now compared to how you felt before you came to see me? Is the urge that drove you here quite gone?"

Was he making fun of her? How could any of her 'urges' be gone after having talked to him like this? She felt closer to him than she ever had. He had opened up to in a way she never would have thought possible. In a way, the conversation they had shared was much more intimate than a simple kiss could ever have been. It had only served to deepen her yearning to get closer, to be more than a student for him.

Before, she would have liked to kiss him because he intrigued her, because she felt attracted by his aloofness and everything she had projected onto him. Now, she was attracted because she had caught a glimpse of the man he really was, because she had gained a new understanding about him. And because she really liked what she had found. If anything, the urge to kiss him, to touch him and to be close to him had increased a hundredfold.

"No, I think not..." she said carefully, wondering why he wanted this admission from her.

He could tell by watching her carefully guarded expression that she had misunderstood the aim of his question. He even guessed into which direction his somewhat negligent choice of the word 'urge' had led her mind.

Torn between slight vexation and mild amusement, he shook his head and briefly pondered which fact he found more unsettling – that she would candidly answer his certainly-not-intended question or that he was feeling compelled to voluntarily enter the land of crazy impossibleness in order to salvage her mission. This girl could easily be the death of him, but she'd probably make him die a happy man.

"I was referring to the urge to fulfil your vow which drove you down here," he corrected mildly. "Did you not realise that, throughout this lengthy talk that we shared, all the explanations you gave and the justifications you made – you never actually did what you came here for?"

She frowned. "But kissing you was never part of the requirement of the vow. It shouldn't matter if we actually kissed or not."

"It's not about the kissing part," he repeated her own words to her and added almost gently: "You never asked me."

"Oh." Her eyes grew wide as understanding dawned in her. She blushed. "You're right... I hadn't realised..." She had pledged that she would ask him to kiss her. But she actually had never voiced her question. He was right – she still had to actually say it to fulfil the requirements of her vow. "Well, then... Would you please be so kind... I mean, I would very much like you to..." Her blush deepened to an almost crimson shade and she winced. "Merlin, this is awkward!" she said, embarrassed by her lack of eloquence. Why should it even be awkward, now? He already knew what she wanted and he wasn't going to grant it. But why had her heart jumped to her throat all of a sudden, and why was it beating so frantically?

Having lost almost all her capability to form – if not elaborate then at least coherent – sentences, she raised her eyes to him and softly pleaded: "Kiss me, please?"


	6. A Matter of Consequence

_**It's been fun to write this story, especially because of my animated correspondence with my lovely beta, Dreamthrower! Thank you again for your invaluable help, your advice, your charming and funy comments and your endless patience when it comes to analyzing, understanding and explaining the complexity (and sometimes the weirdness ;) ) of English language! You're great!**_

* * *

" _Kiss me, please?"_

It was a softly spoken request, almost a command if it hadn't been for the longing, hopeful expression in her eyes.

He had told her no already, or at least, he had voiced all the reasons why he should tell her no. But looking at her now he realised that he couldn't refuse her. He simply didn't have the strength to. And, if he was honest with himself, he didn't have the willpower, either.

He reached out, brushing his fingers against her cheek before cradling her face in his hand. "If you so wish..." he murmured, leaning closer. Her breathing stopped, and he could feel her erratic heartbeat in her chest when his mouth ever so slowly descended to meet hers.

Hermione had often imagined how it would be – kissing the stern, unapproachable and intimidating Potions master. It was a fantasy she had found fascinatingly difficult to indulge in. Maybe because kissing incorporated everything Snape did not stand for: human contact, emotions and warmth. It was difficult to associate him with feelings other than anger, impatience or scorn. Which is why she had often imagined that his lips, which she had often seen pressed into a thin line, a scowl or a sneer, would to be just like that: hard and unforgiving, punishing even, leaving her lips bruised for daring to invade his personal space.

If he could ever be tempted into kissing her, so she had imagined, he would not hesitate to take whatever pleasure he could gain from what was offered. His kiss would be demanding and uncompromising, more about taking than giving. And just as he radiated power and commanded obedience in every other situation and in everybody, he'd exert control and dominance over her and make her bend to his will. Strangely enough, she didn't mind that at all, but found the idea oddly exciting.

On the other hand, Snape had always seemed a bit incompetent when it came to relationships and basic human interactions. He didn't even do small talk, he never danced at any of the Hogwarts festivities, and he surely had never been seen flirting. It seemed unlikely that he had a vast dating history, but, despite everybody else's unfriendly guesses, Hermione thought it equally unlikely that he was completely inexperienced. A bit out of practice, possibly. So it might well be that his kiss would be a bit awkward at first, with clanking teeth, bumping noses and clumsy attempts to find the right angle. She hadn't dwelled on that possibility very much, as she was insecure enough herself and felt that at least one of those involved should feel competent and knowledgeable about what they were doing. But, admittedly, the idea of discovering a more human, vulnerable side of the most feared professor was strangely endearing, too.

Still, she found that scenario highly unlikely. Though he wasn't classically handsome, he definitely had that dark allure that women probably found challenging. The question was whether his experience had ever involved anything beyond carnal pleasures. The latter was surely easy to find for a man. As a Death Eater, so she had thought, he even might have been forced to participate in all sorts of depravities. But even when she had heard the rumours about rapes and revels, she hadn't been able to imagine that Snape had voluntarily taken part in those vile acts. He could be cruel, no doubt, but no matter how angry or hateful, he had never raised his hand against a student or caused any of them physical harm. Although he did seem to perfidiously enjoy causing discomfort and sometimes humiliation, she was convinced that he didn't take pleasure in someone else's pain.

He did have passion, of that she had never harboured any doubt. Every student who had ever faced an angry Professor Snape could tell that the man was capable of very powerful emotions. In those moments, they could be seen flashing in his eyes. Yet, depending on what women he had associated with, she could well imagine that he knew all about lust, but nothing about love. If that was the case, his kiss would be wanton and passionate, as dark and intense as the man himself. Just as likely he'd have no inhibitions and would know no restraint; he'd take her breath away, set all nerves afire and leave her body burning with need.

Yet in all her fantasies of touching him and being touched by him, she had never imagined that it would be like this... that his arms would enclose her so protectively, that his touch would feel so warm and that his kiss would be so gentle.

At first, it was just his lips moving against hers, flesh on flesh in a soft caress. The almost chaste gesture was enough to bring a sudden rush of warmth all over her body and cause her heart to skip a beat. Then, his tongue brushed ever so lightly against her lips, as if painting her mouth, outlining it, bringing it alive and filling it with warmth and colour. His kiss was undemanding and presumed nothing, and yet it made her open her mouth to him and silently plead for further exploration.

He accepted the invitation, and Hermione learned what it was truly like to be kissed by the potions master. He handled her like he would handle his most delicate and volatile potions: With utmost care and patience, with all due respect and yet with competence and confidence. He was mindful of every detail, payed utmost attention to her slightest reaction, but trusted his instincts enough to allow room for experimentation. And just like with his brewing, he knew exactly how much to add, how long to stir and when to let simmer, and was careful not to put too much heat or pressure, or to be too hasty lest it would ruin the outcome. Potion making clearly was not the only fine and subtle art he had mastered.

Embraced in his arms, enveloped in a scent of sandalwood and spices, and completely overwhelmed with sensations, she felt her head spinning and her legs weakening. Had he not held her firmly against him, she surely would have melted to the floor.

The caresses of his hands, the warmth of his body, the taste of his mouth – it evoked feelings in her that her fumbles with Ron had never brought forth. Passion. Desire. The wish she could melt into him and never be apart again. If this was what all the fuss was about, she almost considered her time in the library utterly wasted. Never, ever had she felt anything like this.

Eventually, he gently withdrew his lips from hers, his face lingering close for a moment longer. She remained completely still in his arms, afraid that the tiniest movement would break the spell she was still under.

"Breathe, Hermione," he reminded her with a soft chuckle, noticing that her hands were clutching the soft wool of his robes as if she feared he might run away if she let go. Yes, the urge was there, the need to reestablish distance, to quickly retreat back behind the safety of his walls, to be untouchable again. But stronger than that was the surge of elation, pleasure and pure bliss, that made him reluctant to release her from his grasp. Sweet Nimue... he surely hadn't expected _that_. Clearly, neither had she.

"Wow..." she finally muttered in wonder, feeling as if she had just come to after losing consciousness.

"Yes," he said drily. "That most adequately sums it all up." He found himself utterly at a loss for words. Why now, twenty years too late? Why she, of all people – such a young witch, his student? A bloody Gryffindor, Harry Potter's best friend? Was he so starved for human contact, for a gesture of affection and some compassion that it could so overwhelm him? How could such a mere slip of a girl inspire such a forceful reaction – just with a simple kiss?

Though, if he was honest, there had been nothing simple about this kiss. Especially not about what had led to it – and that was probably the heart of the matter. His heart. Somehow, she had managed to find and to touch it behind all the protections he had carefully built around it over the years.

Maybe he shouldn't be surprised. If he was honest, the assault had begun years ago. She had crawled under his skin without intent and without even taking notice. He had allowed her to believe that he had recognised himself in her when discussing her studiousness and her eagerness for knowledge. It was certainly true – they had a lot in common – but despite their mutual interest in books and learning, she had, more that that, always reminded him of Lily. Her beautiful mind, her brightness, the fierceness she displayed when fighting to right a perceived wrong... even her soft heart, her openness of mind and her compassion.

With the boy-who-looked-like-James and her, the girl who was like a re-incarnation of his sweet Lily, it was like ghosts from his past had come back to haunt him. At times, it had been almost unbearable.

And it hadn't even been much of a relief when he had, in later years, realised that her resemblance to Lily didn't run quite as deep as he had thought. Unlike Lily, Hermione wasn't an all popular girl; she didn't have any of Lily's playfulness, her flirtatiousness or her vanity. Instead, she possessed a deep sense of loyalty which Lily had never had.

Students often thought that their Potions professor never took notice of their private lives, given that he expressed so little interest in it. But he had always been a keen observer, something that came with being a spy. And he had seen her friends hurt her more than once over the years with their ignorance and their big mouths that often spilled words faster than their brains could exert damage control. And yet she had always graciously forgiven them. Hell, she had even forgiven Draco for calling her mudblood and had come to a tentative truce with him after the war. And Draco had never been her friend, but the enemy.

Her capacity for forgiveness went beyond anything he'd ever seen or experienced. Had Hermione Granger been his friend and not Lily, she would have forgiven him for hurting her like he had hurt Lily. She would never have withdrawn her friendship.

And now, just with kindness, compassion and her incredible mind, she had somehow managed to peel apart all his carefully constructed layers of defences and had laid him bare before her eyes.

It scared him and thrilled him in equal measure. But whatever these strange feelings were that she had unknowingly unearthed, he couldn't allow himself to nourish them and see what might grow out of them.

He was her teacher, he was too old and too damaged for a young and innocent girl like her, physically and emotionally. And that was only the most apparent reason why he should never have acted the way he had; why he shouldn't have given in to a moment of weakness. They were opposites in every possible way – he was tainted, she was pure, his soul was dark, hers was all light. He was a loner, a recluse, a pariah – she was social, had friends and was well-liked.

And yet... while his mind insisted that it couldn't be and meticulously enumerated why what he had done and what he felt was all wrong, his heart, which had been silenced so long ago, was shouting in a most elated voice that finally something was perfectly right in his world.

"Now what?" Hermione helplessly asked when her power of thinking finally returned, and with it the hash reality of their situation.

She had just kissed and been kissed by a teacher. Not any teacher, but her stern and unapproachable Potions professor. And she had loved every second of it. God, she might even love him. How come she had never realised that before? It wasn't just a crush, hero's worship or mere admiration of a brilliant mind. She felt drawn to him. She could listen to him all day, she could look at him all day and study every move of his eyebrows to discern the feelings it might reveal. She wanted to stay in his arms which had felt so warm and right around her. She wanted to kiss him again. But he wouldn't let her. The rest of the world cared not about what felt right for them.

He sighed. "Now you go back to you dormitory, and we'll meet Monday in potions class. I will deduct points for you being a know-it-all, and you will curse your most hated teacher under you breath..."

"Never! You can't expect me to behave as is nothing has changed... not after this!"

"Nothing has changed, Miss Granger," he said, distancing himself with his words and his body. His voice was gentle, though, and his eyes full of regret. "For the remainder of the school year, which surely will never have seemed as long, you will remain my student, and I will remain your professor. You will take your NEWTS – probably all 'outstanding', except maybe for potions..." She scowled at him, causing him to chuckle once more, "... and then – once you have your graduation papers in hand – you will come once and see me again in the dungeons – if you should still so wish."

She looked at him with an expression that was half way between horrified and hopeful. "You want us to wait for another eight months before we explore whatever these feelings are that we both obviously felt quite strongly only a minute ago?"

"Oh, I think we both know exactly what those feelings are..." he answered, passing her a meaningful glance.

Hermione narrowed her eyes. "I hope you're not trying to tell me that it was only lust..." she started, fearing that this might be a new excuse to distance himself, to play down what had happened. "Because if you are, I need to tell you that..."

"I'm not," he interrupted, not saying anything else, but the words were meaningful enough.

"Oh..." she murmured, taken by surprise by his subtle, but still clear enough confession. "But… you still want us to stay apart from each other for the remainder of the school year?"

"Yes. It has to be – for both our sakes."

"I don't know if I'm that strong..."

"Then I will be strong for both of us," he said resolutely. "Hermione – there is not much I am proud of. Will you take what little pride I still have left and make me defile the oath I took when becoming a teacher?"

She hung her head and slowly shook it. "No."

"Eight months is nothing. If anything, it's ample time for you to examine your feelings, to make experiences – to kiss some boys, for Merlin's sake. To truly figure out what you want."

"I already know what I want," she said with utter conviction, raising her gaze to meet his again. "I couldn't be sure before, but I am now."

He sounded doubtful. "You're still so young..."

"In years, maybe," she shrugged, then smiled, albeit a bit sadly. "It doesn't matter. I understand your reasoning, and as I said before, I respect it. I know that eight months won't change a thing. Will you wait for me?"

He looked at her in disbelief. Instead of riding off into the sunset with the next best, beautiful young women who ventured into the dungeons and threw herself at him? He'd been waiting for about 20 years for something like this to happen. Well, not exactly the beautiful young woman and the sunset, but just to feel these emotions again... Comfort; a warm, human closeness; hope. Though truthfully, he hadn't been _waiting_ in a long while – he hadn't even dared to even hope that it could still happen. "What do you think?" he merely asked, the look in his eyes probably revealing more than he cared to think about.

Her smile turned a bit brighter with his reassurance. "Alright then, Severus," she said, purposefully using his name. She had the right to, just this once. "I'll see you again in the summer. You can bet on it."

For the second time this evening, she headed for the door, and once again, she briefly paused after opening it.

"Goodnight, Professor Snape, and thank you – for everything."

"You're most welcome, Miss Granger," he answered, before the door fell shut behind her. "Goodnight to you, too."

'*'*'*'*'*'*'*'

Well, this is it - given that it's a chamber play, it has to end here, from where you can take this beginning of a romance to wherever you want it to go.

If you ask me, I doubt that Severus and Hermione manage to stay completely apart from each other for eight long months. She has been drawn to him for far too long, and he has been lonely for far too long to go entirely without her company.

So I suppose he will continue to call her a know-it-all in class, maybe even more often than he did before, but it will have a different, deeper meaning, one that all the other ignorant students couldn't possibly imagine, and it will carry a tender undertone that no one else will notice, either.

She will smile at him serenely not matter how sniding his comments or how harsh his critique, because she will still see the truth of his feelings in his eyes, and because she has become very adept at reading the code of his brow movements by now. Only once in a while will she completely act out in class, so he can't help but give her detention for lack of respect towards a professor and for her cheek. (And because one of my kind reviewers was concerned about this: Please know that Hermione will be very respectfully disrespectful, and probably only if her professor was especially hard on one of his most abysmal students).

The first time it happens, Severus will make her scrub cauldrons for a little while – after all, she _did_ try to disrespect his decision to keep their distance and stay within their established bounds. But she will be given the good cleaning product to use, and he will discuss the latest articles in Potion's Weekly with her while she's working, among other things. He will also try to stay behind his desk and appear totally calm and collected.

Later detentions (or probably they will arrange for Hermione to take an advanced potions project instead, which will give them opportunity to spend some quality time) will see her sit at his desk and correct first-year homework essays with him, or find both of them amiably working side by side, taking stock of his potions ingredients and putting the shelves in order. Sometimes, she will be asked to assist him in brewing potions for the hospital wing, and that won't be under the guise of detention.

And always, she will be offered a cup of tea afterwards (no firewhisky, sorry), and he will transfigure the stiff wooden chair into a soft armchair. These evenings, scarce as they might be, are their highlights in those long months, which Hermione uses to study for her NEWTS as if there was nothing else in life. All the while, her friends have no idea that her life is safely tucked away in the dungeons, waiting for her.

I don't know if Hermione will be able to steal a kiss from him every once in a while. Maybe. But surely not in the hallways.

That will only happen much later, when she wears his ring on her finger and he finally feels that laughing out loud in public is totally acceptable, every once in a while.


	7. Author's Note

Author's Note:

Hi guys!

Some of you asked me if there was going to be a sequel to this story, and the answer I gave you was 'no'. Well, I was mistaken. :)

I couldn't let go of Hermione and Severus just yet, so I played around with a few ideas I had and somehow ended up with much longer story than "A Kiss for the Netherfairies". It is in its final stages now, and the first chapters have already undergone beta-ing by my personal and most trusted beta-reader Dreamthrower.

I will take my time with publishing the chapters, as I'm also doing the translation into German while still working on it. Neverthess, I can promise you with certainty that the story will be completed (in fact, it basically is). Anyway, in case some of you wanted to read this again before starting on the sequel, I thought I'd give you advanced notice. I'll most likely publish the first chapter next Saturday.

If you're interested, watch out for "Getting the Best of the Gloomilows". :)


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